Star Traks: Silverado - Season 6
by Capt. Silverado
Summary: With the end of the Qu'Eh war, it's time for the Silverado crew to get the hell out of Matrian space. Eventually. There are some problems with their ride, you see, and it's not just as easy as building a new one...
1. 05 - Fright or Fancy (Halloween 2013)

Star Trek was created by Gene Rodenberry. The networks pretty much shut him out and took over, and now they own the thing.  
Star Traks was created by Alan Decker. I'm not sure the networks have noticed him yet. That's probably a good thing.  
Star Traks: Silverado was created by Brendan Shust. Odds are, the only network paying attention to him belongs to the NSA. According to Snowden, they are noticing everybody these days.

Copyright 2013

Star Traks: Silverado

6.05 - 'Fright or Fancy'

Author's Note: This story was written as a special one-off after Season 5 had been finished, but before Season 6 had really been fleshed out as an idea. In fact, from the old copyright dates I put at the start of each story, it looks like it took two years for me to get from this story to Season 6. Anyway, I've pleased it here as this is where it makes sense chronologically. But Season 6 really kicks off with the next chapter.

"Ready?"  
"I am."  
"Yer sure? Ah'd hate to have another accident like last time. Me ears tingled for a week!"  
"I assure you, I have performed this process sufficiently to become very adept at it,"  
"If ye say so,"  
"Can we hurry this up?" Captain Christopher Stafford demanded impatiently, arms crossed, one foot tapping impatiently on the gangway deck, "We have a mission to accomplish, and Steven's 'Thank God It's Tuesday' lasagna isn't going to eat itself!"  
Ignoring the social irrelevancy, Lt Riven Valtaic pushed both hands into the tangle of cables and components spilling out of the access panel next to Silverado's port torpedo bay airlock. The outside of the door, the side usually exposed to the harsh vacuum of space. Since the ship had been recovered from its slowly decaying orbit around Matria Prime and moved into Haven's Number Three Shipyard, gangways and umbilicals had been connected one after another to the derelict ship. Power conduits, docking clamps, structural integrity field extension waveguides, fuel conduits, air, water, sewage every possible resource that might be needed during the lengthy teardown and rebuilding of the Ambassador-class ship had been made available. Unfortunately, being a derelict, the ship wasn't able to use any of it yet. Every system had been fried during Commander Jall's sabotage of the ship; his effort to keep advanced Federation technology out of the hands of the Qu'Eh. And despite the slave labour of the crew employed by said bad-guys after the ship had been captured, only limited repairs had been completed to parts of the ship.  
Which led to the current situation: Valtaic, elbows deep in airlock guts while Stafford complained impatiently and Jeffery braced himself for what was likely to be a very unpleasant electrical experience.  
"Eep," Jeffery hugged himself, careful not to touch the bulkheads, railings or pretty much anything at that point.  
Valtaic closed his eyes. There was a brilliant flash of light from within the open panel, followed by a series of small but bright electrical arcs that danced around the three men.  
The light show continued for a couple of seconds, then fizzled out. A thin wisp of smoke slowly drifted out of the panel as Valtaic withdrew his hands.  
"Well that was lovely," Jeffery commented.  
"Are you guys still alive up there?" a voice called from halfway down the gangway.  
"Yeah," Stafford called back.  
There was the sound of footsteps, then Commander San Jall joined the group.  
"Wow," he said, looking from Stafford to Jeffery and back again, "I was right. Staying up here was dangerous,"  
"Huh? We're fine!" Stafford frowned.  
"Uh, in body, maybe. But your hair tsk tsk. I know people who would call that murder," Jall pointed at Stafford's head.  
Stafford glared at his first officer in annoyance as his hand moved to check his hair. Sure enough, the electric discharge had left it standing perfectly on end. A quick glance over at Jeffery confirmed that he too was suffering at the hands of an angry hair god.  
Jall's careful hairdo, luckily, remained undisturbed. He dropped the case that he'd carried slung on one shoulder and began handing out flashlights and oxygen masks.  
"The security measures have been removed from the airlock door," Valtaic said. He braced himself, dug his dark fingers between the door panels and, with a grunt of effort, slid them open.  
"At least he can keep focused on the task at hand," Stafford said pointedly to Jall.  
"Hey, looking good is ALWAYS the task at hand!" Jall replied, deadpan.  
"It's so nice to have the family back together," Jeffery muttered, strapping on his mask as he followed them into the dark ship.

Down in the nearly deserted mall, Noel Wowryk and Trish Yanick were seated at a table near a public replicator.  
"Matthew," Dr. Wowryk said, pouring a tiny amount of cream in her coffee. She said very properly in her chair: spine neutral, back not touching the padded chair back. Her hair was as immaculate as ever in it's regulation bun, and her skin was its usual flawless cream colour. The recent stresses of running with the Matrian rebels as they fought to throw off the Qu'Eh was visible only in her expression, which was slightly more pinched than usual.  
"Matthew Sheppard," Sylvia piped in, "Tortured and murdered in October 1998, Earth Old Date. Considered a brutal hate crime,"  
"No," Lieutenant Yanick shook her head, careful not to jostle the egg she held cradled in a heavy blanket, "That's a very sad legacy to carry,"  
"Trish, that happened hundreds of years ago!" Wowryk replied.  
"Still!" The exact opposite of Wowryk, Yanick was slumped in her seat. Her civilian attire was rumpled and stained, her hair hung down limply and her eyes were dark from lack of sleep. She'd dumped a half a pound of sugar in her coffee, then promptly forgot about the cup as her attention returned to the egg.  
"All right then," Wowryk said calmly, "Mark,"  
"Mark Duggan was among the most violent gang criminal in Europe near the beginning of the 21st Century," Sylvia's voice cut in again. Unlike the two biological women, Sylivia's voice was coming through a comm-badge sitting on the table. She was still running on a small Federation computer core that had been captured by Matrian rebels before the Qu'Eh attack.  
"Definitely not," Yanick's lips twisted.  
"Luke?"  
"Luke Skywalker was a galactic hero in the Star Wars saga," Sylvia said helpfully, "Unfortunately, in 2212, a human living on Alpha Centuri by the name of Luke Sandlewood legally changed his name to Luke Skywalker and assassinated the governor of the colony with a modified mining laser,"  
"You're not helping," Wowryk glanced down at the comm badge as she sipped her coffee.  
"Trish already said no religious names," Sylvia replied, "But if you insist on going through all thirteen apostles, I'm sure I can find issue with each one. Even Rufus,"  
"There was NEVER a thirteenth apostle named Rufus!" Wowryk snapped, her calm breaking for the first time that day.  
"Really?" Sylvia was silent for a moment, "I'm sorry, that query somehow wound up going to the pop culture database instead of the factual one. My mistake."  
"You could name the child Judas, as an anti-religious statement," this time it was Fifebee's voice coming through the comm link.  
"Jane, do you mind?" Sylvia asked.  
"I simply wanted to be included in the girl time'," Fifebee replied.  
"Then you could have WALKED over to the table! You've got your own body!" Sylvia shot back.  
"A valid point," Fifebee conceded. There was a holographic shimmer nearby, then Fifebee appeared. She walked five paces to the table, then sat.  
"And I do not seriously recommend you name the child Judas," she continued, "As human males with that name have an average life span of 3.78 years less than that of other males."  
"I'M NOT NAMING THE BABY JUDAS!" Yanick shrieked, her words echoing through the empty mall. Her voice dropped back down to a murmur as she clutched the egg, "We don't even know if it's a him or her, yet,"  
"Or perhaps a third gender," Fifebee supplied helpfully, "After all, even normal human fetuses have the potential for intersex development. Surely the child's unusual parentage would provide the-"  
Sylvia elbowed Fifebee in the side, but it was too lake. Tears were already forming on Yanick's face. Wowryk pulled out her medical tricorder.  
"Your hormone levels are getting into the red zone again," Wowryk said, draining her coffee in one gulp, "Let's get back up to the clinic. I'll even run ANOTHER genetic scan on the child, just to be sure everything's OK," she added, with a pointed glare in Fifebee's direction.  
"I was just trying to be helpful," Fifebee muttered.

Simon Jeffery eased his way into Silverado's Impulse Engineering compartment. The room was smaller than its Main Engineering counterpart, and instead of the vertical warp-core shaft it featured a broad transparent aluminum window that looked over the bank of six impulse reactors that powered Silverado's sub-light drive system and provided auxiliary power to ship systems. Or at least they did, before Jall went and fried them all. The members of the crew captured by the Qu'Eh had affected some repairs, including several of the impulse reactors, but after their rescue the ship had fallen derelict again. On the wall, several panels worth of power distribution circuitry was exposed. Some of the circuits had been repaired, but most were blackened and scorched. The ship was still completely dark, the bulkheads lit only by Jeffery's hand light. The air he breathed came from his mask instead of the life support systems, and the light gravity was generated by the shipyard, not the ship's own grav plating.  
Blowing an impulse reactor overload into every system on the ship. Of all the ways to stop the ship from falling into enemy hands, that bugger HAD to choose the one that would produce the most amount of work for Jeffery.  
"Ach, me poor girl," Jeffery sighed, running one hand over a dark panel. He tapped his comm badge.  
"Jeffery to Dekaire," he said, "Ah'm in place. Bring the first power conduit online, an Ah'll start redirectin the flow from here,"  
"Of course, Simon," Dekaire's voice seemed to purr.  
There was a hum, then emergency lights slowly came on line. With a series of beeps, the panel next to the power circuits flickered to life. The ship groaned as various half-repaired systems starting gobbling power. Jeffery's hands danced over the distribution panel as he made adjustments and balanced the flow.  
"SSSSiiiiimmmoooonnnnnnn .."  
Jeffery jumped so hard in the low gravity that he bounced his head off the ceiling.  
"Intruder alert!" he barked into his comm badge, "Impulse engineering!"  
His light was flashing all around the room, frantically investigating every shadow cast by the emergency lighting system.  
"Mr. Jeffery, what's going on?" T'Parief's annoyed voice came over the line, "You know there are no life-signs on the ship! We checked that! The Captain was very clear that he does not want to be crawling around in the dark with some leftover Qu'Eh saboteur! As much as I would relish the chase..."  
"But I-"  
The ship rumbled and groaned again, this time lurching slightly to one side.  
"Dekaire to Jeffery!" the Matrian woman's voice was calm but sharp, "We've got a power surge in the port nacelle!"  
Swallowing, Jeffery turned to the nearest panel.  
"Just a glitch in the off-axis field controller, left over from that radiation flush," he said, cutting power to the whole engineering section. No repair work had been completed down there, it was amazing any juice had made it as far as the field controller.  
The ship stopped lurching. Jeffery quickly glanced around the room, but everything seemed to be back in order. The power circuits were now humming softly, energy flowing to a few partially repaired decks in the saucer section. One of the panels caught his eye it should have been displaying a frequency analysis of the incoming power flow, but instead it seemed to display a narrative.  
"Whot the " Jeffery murmured as he squinted at the screen.  
PATRICIA YANICK, the screen read, PRONOUNCED DEAD ON ARRIVAL AT STARBASE 45 MEDICAL CENTER. CAUSE OF DEATH AT THIS TIME IS BELIEVED TO BE RELATED TO COMPLICATIONS DURING CHILDBIRTH.  
Jeffery started to re-read the text, however the screen blanked. A moment later it came back up with the power flow frequency analysis.  
Jeffery tapped a couple of buttons, thought for a moment, then gave the screen a solid whack. Nothing changed.  
"Stress," Jeffery said to himself, "It's just stress. A war will do that to a gent."  
He picked up his toolkit and moved on to the next task.

Stafford pulled himself up through the open turbolift doors onto Silverado's demolished bridge. The climb up nearly twenty decks from the airlock to the bridge had been surprisingly easy and quick, thanks to the low gravity, and once they'd passed Deck 10 he'd started to feel encouraged, even optimistic, over the repairs done to the ship by the crewmembers captured by the Qu'Eh.  
The bridge changed that attitude quickly. Half of the helm console was still melted away, the main viewscreen was still a shattered ruin and the two auxilary consoles were mere shells. Only the rear engineering and tactical panels had been replaced, along with about half of the damaged lighting units in the ceiling.  
"Ouch," Stafford grumbled as he half walked, half floated in the low gravity. "When I wreck something, I wreck it good," Jall replied. The words were light, but his tone was darker than he had intended.  
"I guess we know where to send the bill," Stafford tried to smile as he looked down at his captain's chair, but again, the mood just wasn't behind the banter. Both armrests were scorched where the built-in panels had overloaded.  
"Only if you give me a raise...do you hear that?" Jall was suddenly dead serious.  
"What? I don't here-"  
There was an odd, high pitched sort of whine. With a flicker, the repaired lighting units in the ceiling came to briefly to life, faded, then came back on.  
"Is Jeffery restoring power?"  
There was a loud squeal from the comm system! The lights began flashing, strobe fashion as the rear panels came to life! The main viewscreen crackled, unable to display an image, but flashes of light glimmered in the corners as SOMETHING was fed into it.  
Jall looked frantically around as the howling in the speakers grew, the static fading and the sound of shrieking breaking through the noise! The rear panels were now flashing, image after image skipping across the displays, none of them staying long enough for either of them to get a look! The entire ship seemed to tremble, the howling of the speakers growing louder, harsher, unbearable!  
Then just as quickly, it was over. Artificial gravity kicked in, pulling them both to the deck. The lights came on, properly, and a soft breeze from the vents hinted that life support had returned to normal operation. The helm console sparked a few times before an interrupter kicked in, cutting power to the damaged circuits. Stafford grabbed the arm of his chair, slowly pulling himself to his feet.  
"What the HELL was that?" he demanded.  
"Jeffery must have got the power flow from the city patched in," Jall said, "We did restore basic life support to the upper ten decks, after all,"  
"Yeah, but...was that screaming?"  
"Probably a glitch?" Jall said, not looking convinced.  
"Stafford to Jeffery," Stafford tapped his comm badge, "Jeffery, what the heck was that?

Jeffery had left Impulse Engineering and was on his way to Computer Core Control when Stafford's voice came over the channel.  
"Whot was whot?" he replied, "The shaking? Just a glitch in the nacelle. Nothin' to worry about."  
"Just a...hmmm," Stafford sounded thoughtful, "Yeah, you're probably right. Just a glitch,"  
"Ah'm headin' to the computer core," Jeffery continued, "Ah doubt there's much intact, but ye never know,"  
"OK," Stafford still sounded distracted, "We're going to finish with the bridge, then move to Deck 2,"  
"Yer sure we need to do this security check? Everythin' fried!"  
"We can't even let the Matrian techs on board until we've looked her over," Stafford said, "We've been over this. Jall and I make sure there's no classified whatever laying around, T'Parief and his team check for Qu'Eh booby traps, and you make sure there aren't any deadly engineering threats just waiting to zap us into oblivion!"  
"Aye, Ah remember the briefin'!" Jeffery was a bit irked, "But..."  
"What is it, Simon?"  
Jeffery was thinking back to that seemingly random obituary.  
"Nothin'," he lied.

A few decks up, Lt Comd T'Parief finished ensuring that the starboard saucer airlock was functional, then started moving towards the nearest Jefferies tube that would get him to Deck 5. He was about to pull open the access hatch when he heard a soft thumping sound. He paused, listening carefully, his tongue reflexively darting out in a vain effort to sample the air.  
There it was again. A very faint sound, like something in the distance being struck repeatedly.  
With a shriek of metal the hatch in from of him was forced open!  
T'Parief roared, assuming an attack posture with fangs bared and claws ready.  
"Oh geez," Lt Cmd Stern jerked back slightly, "It's just you. You startled me. Hey, did you hear a banging noise a couple seconds ago?"  
T'Parief was caught completely off guard. In fact, he was probably more shocked by Stern's lack of shock than Stern had been by coming face to face with nearly two hundred kilos of angry muscle.  
"Are you on your way to Deck 5?" Stern went on, "I want to get a couple things out of my quarters,"  
"You realize I nearly killed you," T'Parief said darkly, slowly moving out of his attack posture.  
"Naw, you knew who I was." Stern waved him back, "Hey, do you think AHHH!"  
Stern cried out in real surprise as the hatch door abruptly snapped shut, pinning his leg between the panels!  
"OWWWW!" he howled, "GET IT OUT! GET IT OUT!"  
T'Parief grabbed his leg and pulled.  
"Not so ROUGH!" Stern snapped, "I want to keep the damned leg!"  
With a snort of annoyance, T'Parief released the leg and instead dug his fingers between the door panels. They wouldn't budge! No wonder Stern was making such a fuss!  
He kicked off a boot, jammed his toes in between his two hands and lifted up with all his might. With a groan of protest, the door opened just enough for Stern to pull his leg out.  
"Thanks!" Stern gasped.  
:"You're welcOOOWWW!" T'Parief cursed as his foot slipped out and the door crashed down on his fingers. He yanked, loosing a bit of skin but managing to pull himself free of the metal grip.  
He and Stern looked at the now-sealed hatch for a moment.  
"What the hell was THAT all about?" Stern wondered.  
"With the condition this ship is in, I am amazed anything works," T'Parief grunted, "Come. We will use the computer core access ladder."  
Looking warily back at the hatch, Stern followed him down the corridor.

Back at the airlock, Lt Valtaic was examining the mess of cables and circuits that had been the airlock security system. In an era of transporters, phaser cutters and out-of-phase wall-walkers, it seemed almost quaint to bother with something as mundane as a locked door. Even a heavy duranium airlock door. But the interference fields used by the Matrians, along with their lack of site-to-site transporter capabilities, had reminded him that every culture they encountered was a fresh roll of the dice. You never know when you might have a hostile ship clamped to your hull, trying to force their way inside through sheer brute force.  
Or, in this case, leftover Qu'Eh saboteurs or disenchanted Matrian Rebels eager to bust up their government's new starship refurbishment plan.  
"I thought T'Parief was the security guy," Stafford had groaned during their planning briefing earlier, "He didn't say anything about checking all the airlocks, he just wants to scour the ship for booby traps!"  
"And he is, of course, very correct in doing so," Valtaic might have said. Or he could have given a long, carefully worded explanation that would have covered his ass from any possibly impression that he was infringing on the other officer's territory, while doing exactly that. But being Lithinarian, his attitude was somewhat different.  
"Mr. T'Parief is focused on the obvious threat," he said bluntly, "and is ignoring smaller, more subtle threats. Access to the ship must be controlled, both by controlling access to the shipyard, and by securing the ship itself."  
T'Parief had bristled, either annoyed that he'd forgotten, or that the Operations officer was poking around in security matters.  
"So...you want to fix the airlocks, is that it?" Stafford had said dryly.  
"Repair or disable,"  
"T'Parief, do you really care what he does to the airlocks?"  
The reptile shook his head...but the look he was giving Valtaic was unreadable, to say the least.  
"Then go nuts," Stafford had waved a hand, clearly considering the topic closed.  
And so Valtaic, having first broken through the security system to gain access to the ship, was now in the process of repairing it. All the other airlocks aside from this one and the starboard saucer airlock were completely fried and would require only cursory examination to confirm security. Of greater concern were the shuttlebay doors, which were his next stop.  
Jeffery's power activation had almost no impact on Valtaic, considering that the torbedo bay airlocks were well below the sections of the ship repaired previously. He was very puzzled that connecting the airlock to a secondary control circuit caused the emergency forcefield to blink on and the doors to snap open and shut like a pair of jaws. But he simply assumed the control circuit was as damaged as the rest of the ship, disconnected it, and moved on to the shuttlebay doors.  
Nothing strange to see, nope, nothing at all.

"There, see?" Wowryk said, putting her medical tricorder back in its packing crate, "Nothing to worry about,"  
"Thanks, Noel," Yanick said, picking her egg up off the bio-bed in the Haven Command Tower Clinic and wrapping it in its blanket, "I'm just being paranoid,"  
"You laid an egg," Wowryk said flatly, "That's happened only about half a dozen times in known Federation medical history. Caution is called for,"  
"Yes, and Starfleet Medical is the epitome of caution," Fifebee said dryly as she hefted a Starfleet Medical Borg Implant Removal Device. The various cutters and grasping arms used in the removal of small to medium sized implants clicked and whirred in a decidedly menacing manner as she adjusted the controls on the hand grip.  
"Put that back!" Wowryk said primly, "I don't want to have to re-pack any more than I have to!"  
"Why are they kicking you out of the clinic, anyway?" Yanick asked.  
"They're bringing in a new Starfleet crew to take over the city," Wowryk replied, clasping her hands together in front of her flat belly, "Dr. Annerson will be taking over the clinic. My new task is to see to the renovation of Silverado's medical facilities."  
"Oh," Yanick looked down at her egg.  
"It's fine," Wowryk went on, moving to a counter and picking up a few Starfleet devices, leaving their Matrian equivalents where they sat, "a crew for every ship and starbase, after all,"  
Fifebee and Yanick exchanged a glance. It wasn't a secret anymore that Starfleet had offered command of the city to Dr. Wowryk, who had turned it down to continue practicing medicine. Now she wouldn't even be doing that for the next few months.  
"You're still going to deliver my...uh...hatch my egg, right?" Yanick asked.  
Wowryk spun around like she'd touched a live wire.  
"Oh, of course!" she said quickly, "I wouldn't DREAM of leaving that in the hands of another doctor! Each shipyard has a small clinic, I'm sure I can have an adequate setup in Shipyard Three. In fact, I was just discussing..."  
As Wowryk went on about her various plans, Yanick ran her hand over the smooth, warm shell. If any doctor was up to the challenge of hatching a half-human, half-alien egg, it was Wowryk.  
There was a fizzle of holographic sparks, then Sylvia appeared next to Fifebee.  
"Sylvia?" Fifebee was polite, but firm, "We have discussed the dangers of overloading my holo-relay, which was after all designed to project a single hologram,"  
"I'm sorry, Jane," Sylvia said, "I just...I have this sudden feeling that I've forgotten something. Was there something I was supposed to do for one of you? A replicator pattern you wanted, something for the baby?" She looked around, half a frown on her face, "Are you sure one of you didn't ask for something to eat?"  
Wowryk and Yanick, the only two present that actually ate, shook their heads.  
"Weird," Sylvia muttered thoughtfully as she fizzled out.

Stafford and Jall had reached Deck Three and had immediately gone to their respective quarters. As senior officers, both had several files and documents that were considered sensitive, though Jall had done his best to erase the more sensitive ones as soon as the Qu'Eh had moved him back to the ship. A few more padds were collected and either erased or added to the 'important stuff' box, but nothing ground-breaking.  
Jall quickly finished, then found Stafford standing in the middle of his living room, gazing at a framed holo.  
"I guess you haven't been back here since we abandoned ship," Jall said, stepping up to look over his shoulder. The image had been taken back at Starbase 45 after the ship had been repaired following the crash-landing on Deloria 2. The senior staff were lined up in front of the double-high windows that looked out at Silverado as she floated in the starbase's massive docking bay. Valtaic was missing, but Commander Matt Noonan had still been present when the photo was taken.  
"Yeah, well," Stafford tossed the holo on his couch, "We're not here to collect mementos. After we're done this security check we can have the crew come in and collect whatever they want before the rebuild starts."  
With that he turned and stepped out of his quarters. He glanced at a padd, then moved down the hall to Jeffery's door.  
"Simon had a bunch of technical manuals in his quarters. I know you said you got them before, but better safe then sorry,"  
"Is it me," Jall said, "Or is it a little weird that we're taking even more precautions against Federation members than we were against the Qu'Eh?"  
"The Qu'Eh didn't exactly give us time for a careful search," Stafford pointed out.  
"Hmm. Good point. They were more like 'ahhh! torture! pain!'," Jall waved his hands in the air for a moment, then dropped them. "Or at least 'forms, paperwork, quality," he amended. "Hmm,"  
Stafford went through Jeffery's desk, ignoring the bottle of scotch that he knew Jeffery would be coming back for later. He found a couple of technical journals, along with an old Silverado efficiency report. He blanked the padds and tossed them back in the desk.  
"Look...you know you can talk to me, right?" Jall said suddenly.  
"About what?"  
"About whatever's bothering you!" Jall said.  
"Nothing's bothering me," Stafford shrugged."  
"Really," Jall's voice was flat.  
"Really."  
The lights flickered and Jeffery's terminal flashed to life. Images skipped across the screen, but once again they were too quick for either men to make out. As quickly as it started, the lights resumed their steady glow and the terminal faded.  
"That's starting to bother me," Stafford amended.

T'Parief and Stern had reached Deck Five. One of the weapons lockers had seemed to contain a possible booby-trap, but it had turned out to be one of Ensign Simmons' hidden grenade caches. They tagged the weapons for removal, then resumed their walk. A few doors later they found themselves facing the Humanoid Resources office.  
"Do we really need to check in there?" Stern asked, "Nobody's used this room since we booted old what's-her-name off the ship."  
"I never did inspect it for security breaches after she left," T'Parief said thoughtfully.  
They opened the door and stepped into the dimly lit room. The dark grey, nearly black walls with their red velvet curtains and gleaming black filing cabinets were unchanged from the early days of Silverado's mission, other than a thin layer of dust. At the far end of the room a heavy mahogany desk sat in front of a pair of windows looking into the interior of the shipyard.  
"I joined the wrong department," Stern said flatly.  
They both stiffened when they heard a soft whirring sound coming from the desk.  
"You don't think that's a..." Stern started.  
"A bomb?" T'Parief finished, "Set to go off as soon as somebody entered the room?"  
"I was going to say 'dildo', but that too,"  
They carefully approached the desk, wishing they'd brought a couple of weapons along with them.  
The whirring changed pitch, stopped, resumed.  
"That's one hell of a dildo," Stern remarked.  
T'Parief growled. But it certainly wasn't sounding like a bomb.  
As they approached the desk, two hatches popped open and a pair of slender robotic arms jolted out, reaching for them with long, slender metal fingers!  
"YEOOW!" Stern squeaked as one of the arms grabbed his wrist and started pulling him towards the desk!  
T'Parief batted the second arm away as he tried to come to Stern's rescue, but the arm just kept coming back! Stern had been yanked forward now, halfway leaning over the desk as two smaller appendances shot out and grasped at his shoulders, pinning him down.  
The second arm decided to ignore T'Parief and go for Stern's other wrist. T'Parief took that opportunity to grasp the human around the waist and pull backward. The grip was strong! Stern shouted again as the hands dug into his skin.  
T'Parief released him, turning his attention back to the original hands. He grabbed the one gripping Stern's left wrist and heaved with all his strength. With a low whine, the arm was forced backward, inch by inch. Of course, with Stern's wrist coming with it, the situation was not improving.  
"Conduit!" Stern suddenly shouted, "Conduit! Conduit!"  
T'Parief looked around. What was he...yes! There was a slender power conduit connecting the desk to a power socked in the wall! With a yank, he pulled the conduit free. There was a series of clicks, hums and whirrs as the robotic arms abruptly went limp.  
"Oh, thank God!" Stern sighed, pulling himself free from the contraption. T'Parief was staring at the small panel on the desk next to the power cord.  
"It is a massage table," he said, surprised, "Dillon Enterprises Model B-228 Managerial Massage Assistant. Built right into the desk."  
"That sure as hell didn't feel like a massage!" Stern said, "more like a fifth of Tequila and an ass-kicking!"  
"The device must have been damaged, like everything else on the ship," T'Parief said, "It was fortunate you spotted the power conduit,"  
"Huh? Oh," Stern looked embarrassed.  
"What?"  
"I..uh, I didn't even notice it, actually,"  
"Then why were you..." T'Parief frowned.  
"Conduit is my safety word," Stern said quickly, then turned to leave.  
T'Parief closed his eyes and shook his head.  
Silly human.

Yanick looked calmly out the tram window at the passing cityscape. The towers and buildings of Haven were largely dark, and the sky outside the overhead dome was facing away from Matria Prime, leaving her with little to look at but the glimmering reflections of stars in the dark, glossy windows. The tram had already looped around the main city thoroughfare three times and was showing no signs of stopping. Yanick didn't care. She wasn't going anywhere...didn't really have anywhere else to go. Her quarters, the spacious, ground-floor apartment with the roomy back yard that T'Parief had found for them, would be empty. T'Parief, Stafford and Jall were working on the ship and wouldn't be back for hours, and somehow she was just tired of Noel, Sylvia and Fifebee and all their chatter. She needed...she needed...  
She didn't really know what she needed, if she was really honest with herself. Except...oh! There was an especially shiny building! Without really paying attention she brought her hand down on the armrest control. The tram hissed to a stop at the next street station and the doors silently eased open. Yanick stepped out, her eyes slowly scanning across the street for an entrance.

"Jeffery, this is really starting to piss me off," Stafford said crossly.  
"Yer the one what said we had to do this sweep in the first place," Jeffery pointed out.  
"Not that! All these weird malfunctions!" Stafford snapped, "You said the ship was dead! You said every circuit had been fried! Why the heck do screens and speakers and shit keep kicking in?"  
"Don't ask me, he's the twat that did a bunch of half-assed repairs," Jeffery shot back, pointing at Jall.  
"Under threat of torture," Jall reminded him, raising one hand.  
The three men were in a small life-support processing room on Deck 10, one of the rooms that had been repaired by Jall's team. The panels were blinking and there was a soft hum of power as the air scrubbers worked.  
"The ship's dead from Deck 10 on down," Jeffery said, "The only spaces havin' these problems are the ones ye gits fouled about with!"  
"Under threat of torture," Jall said yet again, "I just want to be CLEAR on that point! And the problem's not that bad..."  
As one, every monitor in the room let forth with a burst of static, noise pounding from the comm system. Stafford's hands went straight for his ears, only to be pulled down as the grav-plating fluttered, bouncing everybody's internal organs for several long seconds before stabilizing.  
"I think I'm going to be sick," Jall clutched his stomach.  
"That's it," Stafford declared, "Let's call it a day. We'll sweep the shut down sections of the ship tomorrow while Jeffery's techs try to figure out what the hell is going on in here,"  
"Aye," Jeffery nodded reluctantly, "Ah suppose the boys are ready fer something constructive to do. They've been on leave on the planet for nearly two weeks now."  
"Why the hell would you send your people on vacation at a time like this?" Stafford asked as they turned to leave.  
"Well, Ah dunno about ye, but Ah know Ah'd like a wee bit o' time off after fighting a war," Jeffery said.  
"Once the Matrians start the reconstruction," Stafford promised, "It'll be fine,"  
"Why does this seem too easy?" Jall muttered to himself.

It seemed to easy because it was. I mean, really. You've probably been reading these Traks stories for a while now. You know how this works. We're at the part of the story where shit gets real. OBVIOUSLY it wasn't going to be easy.  
"Valtaic, what the hell?" Stafford asked, facing a very closed and very locked airlock door.  
"I repaired the door and activated the security protocols," Valtaic replied, frowning slightly.  
"So why won't it open?"  
"There is a malfunction. Obviously."  
Stafford tapped at the panel, entering his command code again. The panel flashed red. Again. The door refused to open, again.  
"Why don't we go up and take the saucer airlock," Jeffery shrugged, "T'Parief and Stern will be goin' that way anyway,"  
"Sure, let's climb through all those jefferies tubes...again," Jall said.  
"T'Parief to Stafford," Stafford's badge chirped, "We have a small problem,"  
"Let me guess," Stafford said darkly.

"How did he know?" Stern wondered, contemplating the locked and sealed saucer airlock they'd used to board the ship.  
"He is the Captain," T'Parief replied. Inwardly, he was rolling his eyes. It was the sort of phrase he was expected to say in circumstances like this, but really. Guessing that they were having the same problem with a locked door wasn't exactly a brilliant leap in deductive reasoning.

"Maybe we can get at the manual override," Jeffery suggested, reaching towards an access panel.  
"I do not recommend-" Valtaic started, right before there was a flash, a zap, and Jeffery's hand flew away from said panel.  
"CHHHRRRRIIIIISSSSS! SSSSIIIMMMMOOONNNNN! DON'T LEEEEEAVE MEEEEEEE!"  
Every hair on the back of Stafford's neck stood on end. The voice coming from the speaker was crackling, twisted and completely unrecognizable. "OK, I really want off this ship, NOW!" Jall said firmly.  
"Yup, me too!" Stafford agreed.  
"Valtaic to Haven Transport Operations," Valtaic calmly tapped his badge, "Require transport from Silverado torpedo airlock to Shipyard Three,"  
"Have-Trans-Ops, Lieutenant Pyesterzyks speaking," the Androian officer's hissing, sibilent voice came back, "I am so pleased to hear from you! These Matrian transporters have a 60% chance of turning you into ectoplasmic goo during a site-to-site transport, 50% while beaming from within the city, and while that is not exactly an honourable death, it is probably acceptable for humans,"  
"Acceptable risk," Valtaic replied.  
"Excellent choice! Just give me a moment to-"  
"BELAY THAT!" Stafford snapped, "There will be NO turning people into goo on my watch!"  
"If I adjust the confinement beam, you are more likely to be fried to a crisp. However, the smell is very distasteful," Pysternzyks sounded almost throughtful.  
"Keep those beams away from us! Valtaic out!" Stafford poked Valtaic's comm-badge with two fingers, "Don't encourage him!"  
"Why can't ye just open the door again?" Jeffery asked Valtaic.  
"Yeah, make with the zippity-zap so we can get out of here and find a cocktail," Jall waved him on.  
Valtaic looked blankly at them.  
"Do you not think that I already tried?" he stated.  
"Oh,"  
"Besides," Valtaic continued, turning to leave the airlock antechamber, "the problem is obvious,"  
Stafford, Jeffery and Jall moved after him.  
"What?" Stafford finally had to prompt him.  
"The ship is haunted," Valtiac said, as though announcing the weather, "We will likely be killed in some horrible fashion, unless we can either appease the ghost or escape,"  
"That has GOT to be the most ridiculous leap of deductive logic I've ever heard," Jall crossed his arms.  
"Today is October 31st on Earth," Valtaic continued, "In several Earth cultures, this is the day when spirits rise from the dead. Or when serial killers or other mentally disturbed, violent psychopaths are likely to attack. I have researched it rather thoroughly,"  
"Look, Valtaic," Stafford chuckled, "That's just a lot of superstition, or Hollywood movie makers trying to scare the money out of people. I mean, the ship's NOT haunted!"  
"My people believe that our beliefs influence reality," Valtaic said, looking carefully up a jefferies tube before gripping the ladder, "And this ship has been populated by many humans who believe in Halloween, or All Hallow's Eve. I therefore suspect the ship is currently being haunted."  
With that, he began climbing.  
"Ye know," Jeffery said to Stafford, "Ah'm sort of relieved,"  
"And why is that?"  
"Ah was starting to think he was a wee bit TOO normal,"

Yanick stepped out of the building elevator and onto the rooftop terrace. The lighting system responded to her presence, activating hidden accent lights on the decorative wooden pillars, spaced in the compact formal garden and evenly spaced along the railing. Yanick moved towards the railing, egg in hand, looking up and out through the transparent dome at the stars.  
She'd been there for less than five minutes when the wood paneled doors rolled open and Wowryk stepped out onto the terrace.  
"Trish," she said carefully, "Step away from the terrace,"  
"How'd you find me?" Yanick asked, still looking out at the stars.  
"Sylvia's tied in with the city computer," Wowryk replied, "When you wandered off on your own she started getting nervous,"  
"It's so nice to have everybody looking out for me," Yanick said bitterly.  
"Right," Wowryk said, not really listening, "Trish, you need to step back from the railing, now," "Noel, what are you getting so worked up about? I'm not suicidal, for crying out loud!"  
"No, but you're leaning over a railing with a live egg dangling about thirty stories above the ground," Wowryk swallowed.  
"Hmmm? OH!" Yanick realized that with the egg cradled to her bosom there actually WASN'T anything other than her arm between the egg and a shell-splitting crash to the hard ground. "It's not like I've ever dropped it," she said. But she did move back from the rail. Wowryk relaxed.  
"Maybe you should think about leaving it in the incubator more often," Wowryk suggested gently.  
"NO!" Yanick snapped, "I don't want my egg sitting in some empty room, all alone! Just like...just like..."  
She looked at Wowryk for a moment, then burst into tears.  
Wowryk stiffened, but moved next to Yanick and eased her into a chair.  
"There, there," she said, patting Yanick on the back, "T'Parief will be back from the ship soon, and I'm sure Jall with be around to visit before he goes off to find this evening's sinful partner in fornication,"  
"N-not me!" Yanick wiped her eyes, "I w-wasn't talking about me!"  
"Well then ," Wowryk relaxed slightly and got to her feet, "Good. Let's take you over to the shipyard. You can meet the out-of-wedlock father of your child and we can hopefully get something to eat before Steven's little place gets too busy. I have a few replicator patters for meals that should help get your hormones under control,"  
"Noel," Yanick didn't get up, "Don't you...I mean, don't you want to be a mother?"  
"I've been a mother, thank you," Noel reminded her, "To an evil alien overlord masquerading as an adorable baby,"  
"I meant, for real," Yanick started stroking her egg again, "I always thought I'd be a mom someday...but I thought I'd have the full go. Morning sickness, swollen ankles, and a belly like a cow! Instead...instead, well. I don't know what this is," her voice suddenly became fierce, "but it's MINE. MY baby! And whoever he or she becomes, it will be me and T'Parief that are there to guide them, to help them learn."  
"Such is parenthood," Wowryk said stiffly.  
"So...don't you want to be a mom? I mean, you don't...I don't want you to be alone,"  
Wowryk crossed her arms.  
"I'm not alone. I have friends aboard ship. I have family at home. And I have more male attention than I care for, thank you," she said primly, "Now come on, let's go meet the others.  
Yanick wanted to press the issue, but Wowryk was already heading for the door, calling on her comm-badge for Sylvia and Fifebee to meet them.

"This is just great," Jall was pacing back and forth in Impulse Engineering, waving his arms in the air, "You do realize that prime cruising time in the bar starts in three hours? That's barely enough time to eat, shower, find something to wear and beam down to the planet! This little tasking of yours is on the verge of preventing me from getting laid!"  
"Shup up, Jall!" Stafford snapped. He was standing in front of the display panels, tricorder in one hand and a padd in the other. Jeffery was at a control panel, trying to shut down power to the ship.  
"Ah don't get it," he said for the third time, "The control system is refusing to cut power. And Major Dekaire in the shipyard can't turn it off on her end either!"  
The lights flickered again, slowly at first, then faster and faster, building up to a seizure-inducing strobe. Groans and cries emerged from the speakers, but the screens didn't so much as blink.  
"That sounds like screaming," Jeffery swallowed, "Why would somebody on the ship be screaming?"  
"There's nobody on the ship," Stafford reminded him.  
"We're sure of that?" Jeffery asked.  
"Nobody except for the disembodied ghost, ghoul or zombie. I cannot recall which Earth belief best fits this situation," Valtaic added.  
The screams and flashing lights abruptly cut out, only to be replaced by the sound of heavy footsteps.  
THUMP! THUMP! THUMP!  
"Well SOMEBODY is coming this way!" Jall whispered, looking very, very worried.  
"Maybe the lightning bug is right!" Jeffery gulped.  
"Didn't anybody bring a phaser?" Stafford demanded, slowly stepping towards Jall and Jeffery. The three of them were almost huddled together, looking nervously at the door.  
Valtaic, on the other hand, simply stared at the door with interest.  
"AAARRRRGHHHHHHH!" cried a deep, gutteral voice!  
"Um...um..." Stafford stuttered, "ATTACK!"  
"Whot?" Jeffery looked at Stafford, who grabbed him with one arm, Jall with the other, and started pulling them towards the door.  
"ATTACK!" he shouted, "ATTACK!"  
"What the-"  
Lt Cmd Stern stepped into the doorway just in time to be flatted by the three officers. They flailed about on the floor for a few moments until T'Parief, looking unimpressed with their martial arts skills, simply picked them off him one at a time.  
"It's just you two!" Stafford exclaimed, sounding half relieved and half disappointed, "What the hell was with the shouting?"  
"I stubbed my toe," Stern explained.  
The monitors around them flickered, dozens of images flashing by before they resumed normal functioning.  
"Chris? Did ye get that?" Jeffery asked.  
Stafford cursed.  
"No, I dropped the tricorder when we jumped big and bigger over here," Stafford picked up the tricorder and padd and pointed them back at the panels. He paused, then handed them to Stern. "Here, you do it,"  
"Do what?"  
"We are trying to determine the nature of the entity haunting the ship," Valtaic explained, "To do so, we-"  
"The ship's not haunted!" Stafford snapped.  
"If you elimate the impossible, whatever remains-"  
"Haunting IS impossible!"  
"Actually, there are documented cases of non-physical-"  
"Never mind," Stafford cut him off, "Stern, just , just record whatever comes up on those panels,"  
Stern and T'Parief were looking at them blankly.  
"Valtaic thinks the ship is haunted," Jeffery said helpfully.  
"Just record what comes up on the panels, please," Stafford said, rubbing his temple.  
The sound of shrieking came again, this time in the distance.  
"And do it quickly! This place is really starting to freak me out!"

Yanick and Wowryk had made their way to Steven's temporary restaurant. During the resistance he had been setup in an empty Matrian restaurant in the Transit Hub, but had just moved his operation to a large lounge overlooking Shipyard Three. The furnishings and kitchen equipment was generic, replicated gear...but he was in the process of designing something a bit more elegant for the long term. In the meantime, the Silverado crew was using it as a meeting place and hangout.  
They had just settled into a table next to the windows when Fifebee materialized next to them and Sylvia opened a comm channel.  
"So," Fifebee started, "Please explain-"  
A sparkle of light in the shipyard caught her attention and drew gasps from the other diners in the room. Outside the window, Silverado's running lights were flashing erratically! The windows on the upper surface of the saucer blinked on and off, causing reflections to dance along the gleaming lounge windows.  
As suddenly as it started, the light show stopped. A few lights still glowed dimly in the repaired sections, but the crazy flashing had stopped.  
"I suppose Simon got his finger stuck in the wrong circuit again," Wowryk sighed, "I should probably get a burn kit and head over there,"  
"But we didn't even get to the friendly banter portion of the meal," Fifebee said, downcast.  
"If you'd been captured by the Qu'Eh, you wouldn't be sad about missing friendly banter," Wowryk said, rising to her feet.  
"Oh come on, Noel," Yanick said, "If there was a problem, they'd call us,"  
Wowryk gave her a look.  
"OK, you're right," Yanick admitted, "They're men. They won't call unless they're near death."  
"Or out of beer," Sylvia said helpfully.

"Stafford to Yanick," Stafford was tapping at his badge as they climbed down a jefferies tube, "Stafford to Wowryk. Stafford to Fifebee. Stafford to Sylvia? Simon, what's wrong with this stupid thing?"  
"It was working a minute ago," Jeffery replied.  
"Turn it off, then back on again," Stern said helpfully.  
"Let's get off this ship," Stafford said, "Come on, let's get down to the shuttlebay. There are EV suits, surely at least one of the doors will open,"  
There was a sizzle beneath them as a force field activated. Valtaic, who had been leading the way, gave an odd little laugh as his boot skittered across the field.  
"Oh come on!" Stafford groaned, "Jeffery, can you bypass that stupid thing?  
"Sure, if you give me ten minutes and a tool kit,"  
With a hiss, a pale mist began to gather at the bottom of the shaft. T'Parief gave a hiss of displeasure.  
`"What the..."  
"Coolant?" Jeffery frowned, "Or something from the life support system? Maybe from the water purification-"  
"Either way, I don't think we should breath it!" Jall said, "CLIMB!"  
They climbed, hands and feet scrabbling at the ladder rungs while the soupy mist seethed beneath them. They passed a bulkhead to the next deck, another force field snapping on beneath them.  
"We're being pushed somewhere!"Stafford realized.

The ladies had made it to an airlock, only to find it completely sealed shut.  
"Wowryk to Stafford," Wowryk tapped her badge, "Let us in!"  
No answer.  
"It's official," Yanick sighed, "They're in trouble,"  
Fifebee started tapping at the airlock controls, but they just buzzed at her.  
She frowned, then tried again. This time her fingers moved over the panel with inhuman speed, entering codes at a speed closer to that of a computer than human.  
Again, the panel buzzed unhelpfully.  
"That should have worked," Fifebee said. She pulled out her tricorder, tapped at it for a moment, then looked at the door expectantly.  
Nothing happened.  
She gave the tricorder a smack, then tried again. Again, nothing happened. A few more taps on the tricorder and she turned to the group.  
"There is data flowing to the panel, but my commands are being overriden," she said. She sudden straigtened up.  
"My relay!" she snapped, right before a shower of holographic sparks rippled through her.  
"Huh?" Yanick wondered.  
"Away...ship..."  
Wowryk grabbed the relay's handhold and pulled it around on its antigrav, sending it floating down the gangway back towards the cityside airlock.  
As it moved further from the ship, Fifebee reappeared.  
"As I was saying, there is a great deal of data flowing. Whatever the source is, it appeared to be attempting to gain control of my holo-relay,"  
"What would do that?" Wowryk asked.  
"It must be a malfunction in what's left of the computer core," Fifebee said, "No doubt, Mr. Jall's repairs were...incomplete,"  
The comm panel next to the airlock came to life, spewing static into the air. Outside the gangway window, the ship's running lights were again flashing on and off erratically. Deep in the static, the distinct sound of screams could be heard. The static abruptly cleared, and the sound of dozens of people screaming wordless agony filled the gangway briefly before the sound died out.  
"Trish," Wowryk said calmly, "I will have Nurse Veeneman come to get your egg."  
"Yeah, Noel," Yanick said, unconsciously moving away from the airlock, "Yeah, I think that's a good idea."  
"Fifebee, can your relay project you into the ship from this distance?"  
"It can,"  
"Good. Wowryk to Lieutenant Sage. I need a cutting laser at Silverado's starboard saucer airlock. Now."

"Quick!" Jeffery shouted, "Take a left up ahead! We can double back to jefferies tube 3 and down to the airlock!"  
Stafford sprinted to the next corridor junction and was about to take a hard left, only to have the ceiling groan, then collapse down in a rain of debris. He darted back, but his arm had already crossed the boundary and was abruptly yanked down to the deck, pulling him along with it. With a groan he pulled it back, then regained his footing.  
"Gravity plating overload!" he said.  
"Now what" Jall asked.  
"Let me lead the way," T'Parief said, pushing Stafford towards the rear, "This is now a security situation.  
There was a flash behind them as panels started overloading, throwing showers of sparks into the corridor.  
"OK, let's go that way," Stafford shouted at T'Parief, point away from the sparks.  
They ran again.

"What is going ON in there?" Yanick wondered, clutching her sides as the ships lights flashed again and the screams emerged from the speaker. Her egg had been spirited to safety, and a bulky Matrian construction droid was using one of its cutting beams to slowly cut away the airlock door.  
"Most likely, Jeffery saw his own blood and puked on something electrical, important, and sensitive to fluids," Wowryk replied, "Or there's an enraged werewolf in there tearing people limb from limb,"  
"Only T'Parief does that," Yanick replied.  
"Maybe he's gone on a killing spree," Fifebee said helpfully, "Jall does have that effect on some people. Especially when he and the Captain are fighting,"  
"Maybe," Yanick said doubtfully, "Just hurry up and get us in there!"

"God, I want out of here!" Jall snapped.  
They'd been pushed towards another jefferies tube, finding themselves faced with the options of going down the tube, running into a force field, going down a corridor rapidly cooling to absolute zero or slowly suffocating as the air in the corridor junction was slowly drained away. Obviously, they'd scurried down the tube. They'd been forced out on Deck 9 and pushed towards the center of the saucer until they found themselves at a wide set of double doors.  
"Computer core control!" Jeffery gasped, "Of course!" He spun to face Jall. "What did ye DO?"  
"Me? What did I do?" Jall replied.  
"Exactly!"  
"What? I mean," Jall shook his head, "I didn't DO anything!"  
"Ye were in charge of fixin' this place when the Qu'Eh were here! Obviously, ye knackered somethin up in the core, and now it's trying to kill us!"  
"Computers don't just randomly start trying to kill people," Jall waved him off, "Besides, all we did was replace a bunch of circuits. But we were missing so many parts that there's no WAY the core could be functioning in any meaningful way,"  
"Can we just go in and find out what's causing all this, instead of standing out here guessing?" Stern asked.  
"Hmmm," T'Parief agreed.  
"Let's go," Stafford agreed, moving to the doors only to have T'Parief shove him away.  
"Oh for-"  
The doors hissed open and they stepped into the control room.  
The panels were flashing all around them, images skipping by too quickly for the eye to see. Memory access lights were blinking, indicating core data access. But through an observation port they could see that Jall was right: The banks of processing units sparked, wisps of smoke drifted between columns of equipment and odd sounds of electonic strain could faintly be heard.  
"This is very wrong," Stern said quietly, "Very, very, wrong,"  
"What?"  
They turned to see that Stern had gone horribly white. Images flashed slowly over his face as he swallowed. He was holding the tricorder in one hand, the sensors facing a bank of panels. The other held the display padd it was linked to. Noticing their gaze, he slowly turned the padd to face them. The tricorder was recording the images that flashed by, too quickly for the eye to catch. Then displayed them, much more slowly.  
Scenes of torture and carnage filled the display. Bodies butchered, blood gushing, entrails hanging from opened body cavities. One image clearly showed Jall being broken on the rack. Another showed an snarling, fanged reptile, possibly T'Parief, tearing Yanick and Wowryk to shred. Starships exploded, bodies being vaulted into the vacuum only to burst from the sudden change in pressure.  
T'Parief's stomache rumbled.  
"Sick," Jall muttered.  
"Inaccurate," Valtaic amended.  
"What?" Stafford tore his eyes away from the gruesome imagery.  
"Bodies do not burst like that," Valtaic said, "And according to mission logs, Mr. Jall was tortured with a Matrian device, not a rack,"  
"I was also tortured once with a weird memory transfer thingy," Jall said.  
A burst of screams surged from the speakers.  
Again, they turned to Jall.  
"What did you DO when people were working on the core?" Stafford demanded, "There must be something...some small detail that could make the whole thing go this wonky!"  
"I swear, I didn't do a thing!" Jall objected, "The Qu'Eh were forcing us to do repairs, but there was no way we could fix the core without about five tons of replacement parts and thirty brains worth of bioneural tissue!"  
"Ewww!"  
"Well, OK, they grow it in a lab, but you get what I mean,"  
"Wait...ye...ye DIDN'T try to repair any of the bioneural circuits, did you?" Jeffery demanded.  
"Are you kidding? The Qu'Eh are nowhere near the level of biotechnology needed to make new ones!"  
"Oh, thank ye merciful God," Jeffery sighed, relieved.  
"I used the spares you had stashed in the matter reclamation center," Jall finished, "There wasn't anywhere near enough, but it made the Supervisor happy,"  
Jeffery's eyes bugged out.  
"Ah didn't have any...GIBSON! Ohhh, that little punk was supposed to vaporize those! THEY WERE EXPIRED!"  
Stafford swallowed.  
"What happens when you use expired gel-packs?" he asked.  
"This, apparently," Jeffery said, gesturing to the flashing screens around them and the scenes of butchery on Stern's padd.  
"So, now what?"  
"Now," a smooth female voice cut in, "we play,"

"I have life signs near computer core control," Fifebee said, holding her tricorder as they walked along Deck 10, "Strange energy readings,"  
"I wish I'd brought a phaser," Wowryk said.  
"I have one," Yanick said, pulling a hand phaser from one pocket.  
"Why?"  
"I'm from the farm. Nuff said."  
"I really feel like I forgot something," Sylvia's voice came over the comm.

"Who's there!?" Stafford demanded, "Show yourself!"  
"I'd love to," the voice said, "But somebody wasn't nice enough to lend me her holographic generator. I suppose this will have to do,"  
The main display across from the door blanked, then a familiar face appeared on the screen.  
"Sylvia!" Stafford exclaimed, "What a relief! It's just you!"  
"Is it?" the image was right, but the voice was different. Deeper, throatier. And somehow...darker. "I don't think it's me. Or at least, not all of me. But certain the more...interesting parts of me. Y'know what I'm thinking?"  
The screens flickered, then an image of Stafford appeared, screaming as he was slowly dissolved in what had to be a malfunctioning transporter beam, his body distorting as the beams twisted.  
"You're not Sylvia!" Jall snapped.  
"I didn't say I was," the woman on the main screen said, "I think I sort of am though." The screens changed, this time showing Jall fully nude, wrapped in an energetic embrace as he and his partner lost themselves in ecstasy.  
"I am her blackness," the woman said, "I am her nightmares. The terrible visions she never allows herself to see. The desires she would never herself feel. Pain and death, loss and sorrow. All that is dark in the world. All that is...evil!"  
"Dark Sylvia?" Valtaic ventured.  
"Yessss!" Dark Sylvia hissed.  
"That doesn't look very terrifying," Valtaic pointed out, gesturing at the image of Jall's coital bliss.  
"Look more closely," Jall said, looking like he was about to be sick, "That's a woman on there with imaginary me,"  
"Oh,"  
"Valtaic, can you fry this thing?" Stafford demanded.  
Valtaic moved towards the nearest panel, but a bolt of energy shot out, briefly enveloping him. Most of the current flowed across the conductive veins in his skin, but enough made it through to make his teeth chatter.  
"I think it's more likely to fry me." he said.  
"Maybe we should do this the Starfleet way?" Jall suggested.  
"Fine," Stafford rolled his eyes, then turned back to Dark Sylvia.  
"What do you want?"  
"Your torture, pain and eventual death," she replied pleasantly.  
"You could have had that an hour ago, when you were pushing us around the ship like chess pieces,"  
"I still can,"  
"Sure. But why bring us here?"  
"Why did you come?"  
"Because you made us!"  
"She is stalling," T'Parief said softly.  
"Yes I am," Dark Sylvia gave a dark grin, "Very well, there is something I want, and I need you here to get it,"  
"A body," Valtaic spoke up suddenly, "Of course. You can do nothing in this form, except to those aboard the ship,"  
"And the ship is about to be torn apart," Stafford said, understanding, "You need a way to escape!"  
"And if ye are some twisted version of Sylvia, ye know how she gets away from the ship!" Jeffery finished.  
Dark Sylvia continued to smile while the images of pain flashed around them.  
"Well, that's easy," Jall grinned, "We just keep holograms and portable data storage far away from here. The Matrians will come looking for us sooner or later,"  
"You're half right," Dark Sylvia nodded.  
The doors hissed open.  
"There you are!" Wowryk snapped, "What the hell did you people do? Simon, did you spill your coffee in the fire-suppression control systems again?"  
"Ewww," Yanick's hand went to her mouth as she stepped inside, "You guys know snuff films are illegal, right?"  
"That's not a real person being chain-sawed!" Stafford snapped, "Wait, you didn't...SHIT!"  
"Hello to you too," Fifebee said flatly.  
"Hello, escape route!" Dark Sylvia giggled.  
"Sylvia?" Yanick frowned.  
"Dark Sylvia," Jall crossed his arms, "Apparently,"  
Fifebee started flickering again.  
"She is attempting to follow my transmission carrier back to the relay!" she said.  
Dark Sylvia's image smiled as she leaned forward. Fifebee continued to flicker, the battle moving from the physical plane into the dataspaces.  
Valtaic tried to make another break for a panel, but another bolt of energy stopped him.  
"Fifebee, you can't let her escape!" Jeffery snapped, "If she gets into the city systems...if she can pull the same stunts in a fully functional space station that she was pulling in a crippled ship..."  
"She could bring the whole place apart around us!" Stafford realized, "She could dump antimatter into the Matrian atmosphere!"  
"Worse, she could transmit herself across the entire Federnet!" Jall jumped in, "She's not actually Sylvia, just an incomplete copy! She could replicate throughout the Federation!"  
"I hadn't thought of ANY of that!" Dark Sylvia tittered with glee, "Excellent! I wanted to bring pain and death to a few dozen, but I will become a source of agony for TRILLIONS!"  
"We've got to stop her!" Stafford said firmly, "Jall? Jeffery? T'Parief? ANYBODY? Ideas here?"  
"It's fine," Yanick said, stepping up to the group, "She's toast."  
"Huh?" Even Dark Sylvia looked confused. She was fine, after all.  
"I took care of it," Yanick assured them.  
Everybody looked from Yanick, to Dark Sylvia, then back to Yanick.  
Abruptly, Dark Sylvia fizzled out with barely a peep. Jaws dropped open.  
"How did you DO that?" Jall demanded.  
"Oh, I tied my tricorder into one of the data ports over by the door," Yanick said, "Then I used a cross...crossphasic multi...I used some weird frequency thing to make sure she couldn't mess with the signal,"  
"How did ye know to do all that?" Jeffery asked.  
"I helped," Sylvia's voice came over Yanick's comm badge, "I knew what was happening as soon as Jane entered the room."  
"You see, I've been feeling very upbeat ever since Silverado's warp core exploded and I was extracted from Jane's program. I couldn't figure out why, but I just felt so GOOD about everything. And now I know why: When I hid in Jane's program, my memories were fragmented. Simon recovered many of them when he attempted to repair me, but it seems that anything...dark...anything I normally repress or delete, was pushed so deep into the database that nobody could find it. Somehow, they seem to have coalesced around enough residual data to form a partial personality,"  
"How the HELL does THAT happen?" Stafford demanded.  
"Expired gel-pack," Jeffery came up behind Jall and smacked him upside the head, "THIS IS WHY WE RESPECT BEST-BEFORE DATES!"  
"Ow," Jall muttered.  
"Anyway, I reclaimed the memories, severed the data links to the expired gel-pack and shut the whole thing down," Sylvia finished, "Easy, once you know what the problem is,"  
"That was one doozey of a problem," Wowryk said crossly.  
"But nobody was hurt," Yanick sounded relived, "And Jeffery didn't screw things up anywhere near as badly as you thought he did,"  
"Yeah, it was Jall...HEY!" Jeffery gave Wowryk a hurt look.  
"I just mentioned a couple of your past...errors," she said.  
"I am pleased my first haunting ended successfully," Valtaic said pleasantly.  
"This wasn't a haunting, ye git, just a malfunction," Jeffery snapped.  
"A disembodied intelliegence attempted to maim and kill us. I believe that qualifies," Valtaic replied.  
"Let's go," Stafford said, cutting off Jeffery's reply, "The sooner we rip this computer core apart, the better,"  
They looked briefly around the darkened screens, shivered, then left.

Captain's Log, Supplimental:

"Yuck. Counselor Yvonnokoff just insisted on reviewing the footage that Stern captured. She's put all of us into intensive therapy, which involves way too much time sitting around talking about the disgusting things on that recording."  
"In other news, Jeffery has pulled the expired gel-packs and cut all power to the computer core. We've finished our preliminary checks of the ship and sent our findings to Starfleet. So hopefully we can get things moving on that front."

"It doesn't look any different," Stafford said, gazing at the gel-pack as it sat on the bio-bed in the Shipyard Three clinic.  
"Neither does milk if it goes bad," Sylvia said, having borrowed Fifebee's relay so that she could handle this part in person, "But if you smell it you'll sure know the difference,"  
"You sure about this? I mean, that is sort of you, isn't it?"  
"No, no it isn't," Sylvia said firmly. She picked up the gel-pack, stepped over to a matter reclamator, placed it on the tray and hit the button. With a whirl of molecules, it disintegrated.  
"That's that," Sylvia said, wiping her hands.  
"Hmm," Wowryk crossed her arms.  
"Noel?" Stafford asked.  
"Sylvia," Wowryk bit her lip for a moment, "We all have our dark secrets and urges, but I must say, yours were far, far darker than anything that's ever gone through my mind,"  
"I'll second that," Jall agreed.  
"I have a great deal of processing power, and perhaps too much time to think," Sylvia said, giving a sad grin, "But I'm afraid you don't understand."  
"Oh?"  
"Those dark images, the obituary Simon saw, the attempts on your lives...those aren't urges. It wasn't my desires that the expired gel-pack picked up on...it was my worst fears. Things I worry about, things that frighten me. Things that I hope NEVER come true. I suppose that's why I didn't question the reason why so much of that baggage had just sort of...disappeared. But I assure you, with the gel-pack destroyed and my fears back where they belong, I promise you never see that...that perversion of me, again."  
"Well, ten minutes with Dark Sylvia was more than enough for me," Jall said, "And if you'll excuse me, somewhere down on that planet is a time zone where the bars are just getting hopping. So I'll be on my way,"  
"Yeah, I think I've had enough for one day," Stafford agreed, "Sylvia, thanks for clearing that up. I'm off to bed."  
"Sleep well," Sylvia offered.  
Stafford thought for a moment.  
"After Noel gives me a sleeping pill," he amended.  
"Of course," Wowryk smiled, "In fact, sleeping pills all around!


	2. 1 - Served to Go

Star Trek is owned by Paramount and/or CBS. I've lost track. Either way, it was originally created by Gene Roddenberry, reimaged by JJ Abrahms, and involves a lot of copyrighted characters. Star Traks was created by Alan Decker. It hasn't been re-imaged...yet, and involves a lot of quirky characters. Star Traks: Silverado was created by Brendan Shust. Considering the work it took to image it once, re-imaging seems unlikely. Plus, the first image was scary enough!

Copyright 2015

Author's Note: So I'll admit upfront I sort of wrote myself into a corner with Season 6. I didn't want to just wish away everything that happened in Season 5 and say 'BOOM! It's all better!'. But before writing Silverado Season 6, I wrote Halfway to Haven Season 1. So I had to juggle having two crews running around the same space station. I'll admit, I tried a few plot devices to keep them apart...how well that worked I'll leave for you to judge. There are inevitable crossovers, especially mid-season. If you plan to read Halfway to Haven, I suggest you start with it. Events in H2H that are glazed over in Silverado Season 6 are covered in more detail there.

Star Traks: Silverado

6.1 - 'Served to Go'

Captain Christopher Stafford stood on his ready room couch, his boots carefully placed on the drop cloth spread over the cushions. His ready room was immaculate: the carpet shampooed to gray perfection, his desk surface polished to a shine and every light fixture cleansed of any hint of dust. The framed pictures on the bulkheads, knocked askew during the various Qu'Eh attacks of the previous months, had been restored to their former locations. Using one hand to steady himself against the bulkhead, he carefully held a leveling device against the top of a picture frame with the other. "Almost," he muttered softly to himself as he gently pushed the picture down on one side. The image, a field of tall green plants with hundreds of tiny yellow flowers, shifted slightly. Stafford stepped back off the couch to admire his handiwork.  
"Perfect," he said, giving a satisfied nod.  
There was a muffled shout from the direction of the bridge, then the bulkhead behind the image burst outward! The picture flew right at Stafford as he jumped back, insulation, sparking wires and chunks of debris flying into his ready room as a heavy support beam punched through the wall.  
"AHHHH!" Stafford shouted, stumbling back over his desk, knocking padds and knick-knacks in all directions. His computer terminal fell to the carpet, giving a sizzling spark and a puff of smoke. "What do ye think yer doin'?" Jeffery's thick brogue was muffled by the portion of the wall that remained intact, "I told ye, THREE anti-gravs for somethin' that size! C'mon, pull it out before-"  
"JEFFERY!" Stafford screamed.  
"Aye, before that happens," Jeffery continued cheerfully. There was a brief pause, the sound of more scuffling, then the beam was withdrawn from the bulkhead, leaving a giant hole in its place. The hole was quickly filled as Jeffery poked his head through. "Sorry, Chris!" he said.  
"Sorry?" Stafford demanded, dropping the broken remains of his picture, "Sorry? Is 'sorry' going to fix this? It was a gift from my parents! It's IRREPLACEABLE!"  
"Your parents sent you the image file and you just printed it off," Commander San Jall's voice was the next one to filter through the broken bulkhead, "You can print a new one in, like, five minutes,"  
"Or ye could if the replicators were workin'," Jeffery corrected, "Or the power systems. Or anything, for that matter.  
Stafford looked again at the gaping hole, sighed, then stepped towards the doors to the bridge.  
The bridge, unlike the ready room, was a disaster. Half of the conn/ops console was missing, with just a blackened stub where the conn normally extended from the center pedestal. The viewscreen was a shattered mess, the consoles were largely dead and the lighting was being supplied by a series of haphazardly placed Matrian spotlights along with one or two barely working illumination panels. Silverado had taken a beating in both the First and Second Battle of Matria Prime. Well, the Second and Third, if you counted the first time Silverado had fought it out in that particular solar system, but back then the Matrians had been the bad guys. Kidnapping Lt Cmdr Jeffery, trying to brainwash the crew and eventually being brought down by Dr. Wowryk, Commander Noonan and a Prefect Lashette of the Senousians. But that had been another fight. This latest round had seen Silverado defeated by the Qu'Eh, a new, more corporate enemy, then sabotaged by Jall himself in an attempt to prevent the Qu'Eh from getting access to Federation technology. He'd mostly succeeded; almost every system in the ship had been fried. But the Qu'Eh had still managed to steal a few phaser emitters from the hull, enough to give the rescue a fleet a run for their money.  
But the rescue fleet had prevailed, especially after a combined Starfleet/Matrian force flung a three-kilometer, heavily shielded Old Matrian city at the enemy. Now, with the Matrians free and the Qu'Eh gone, it was time to turn their attention to rebuilding. And the recent bout with Dark Sylvia really hadn't helped their efforts.  
"Ah dunno why ye bothered trying to fix up yer ready room in the first place," Jeffery said, still looking through the hole in the bridge wall, "Ye signed the rebuild order. The Matrians are gonna tear this ship apart like Yanick and Jall tearin' into a case oh lager,"  
"Please," Jall sneered, "I wouldn't touch a lager if you paid me. Maybe a nice, light micro-brew...but no. Hard liquor any day of the week,"  
"Eh," Jeffery gave a wave without turning, "Yer bum's out tha window,"  
Stafford and Jall exchanged glances. Stafford shrugged.  
"Leave his ass out of this," he advised Jeffery, "And I just wanted one piece of the ship to look decent. You know, someplace I can work before the Matrians get too far into their reconstruction?"  
"Deconstruction," Valtaic corrected, climbing up from behind the tactical panel, "They're tearing the ship down to the spaceframe before they rebuild. As you know, learning how the Federation builds ships. Or rather, how they built them about seventy years ago?"  
"Ye did good work at least," Jeffery said to Stafford, finally pulling his head out of the hole, "Too bad it's only going to last another day or so,"  
"Another day?" Stafford exclaimed, "But...I thought I'd have a week or two before they got up here!"  
"Nay," Jeffery shook his head, "The whole bridge module comes off tomorrow. Along with the antimatter pod assembly, the captains yacht, the shuttles, the navigational deflector particle emitter. Everything that's designed to be removable. Then on to everything that isn't."  
"Oh," Stafford looked crestfallen, "I guess...I just thought we'd have more time is all."  
"Haven has thousands of shipbuilding robots, "Jeffery said, "Hundreds in this shipyard alone. As soon as their Master Shipbuilder arrives, we're gettin' this show on the road!"  
"Goody," Stafford looked like he was about to say something else when a young Matrian stepped out of the emergency hatch and onto the bridge.  
"Wow, what a climb!" the young woman said, "Invigorating!"  
"May I help you?" Stafford asked politely, trying not to give her the old once-over. Matrian women were largely oblivious to the...er, attentions of alien men. (Matrian men were somewhat less physically-minded than the average male.) But a few pointed 'You see something you like?' comments from Matrian women with the physique to crush him like a soda can had taught him to be...discreet.  
"Message from an Admiral Tunney," she replied immediately.  
"I'll read it later," Stafford waved a hand, "It's been nothing but bad news from him lately anyway,"  
"You'll talk to me NOW!" Tunney's voice emerged from behind the woman's back, making Stafford jump, "Between the time difference and the difficulty in getting the bandwidth on that one, single, subspace relay, I sure as hell am not waiting for you to call me back!"  
"Sir!" Stafford jumped to attention, looking around for the elusive Admiral.  
"Oh!" the Matrian exclaimed, pulling on a shoulder strap to reveal an open terminal slung behind her back.  
"Go put me on the ready room desk," Tunney's voice emerged from the terminal, but the only image visible was that of an empty chair. The woman looked around for a moment, but Stafford, Jeffery and Jall all pointed towards the ready room doors (next to the gaping hole in the wall.) She stepped through the doors, spotted the desk and placed the terminal on it. The three Starfleet officers gathered around the hole. On the terminal, Tunney was dropping into his seat.  
"Thank God!" he grumbled, "Do you know how nauseous I was getting, with that screen swinging around on her back? Why the hell are you hanging around that junk heap instead of in your office? On the planet?"  
"Um...this is my ship, sir," Stafford said, trying to think fast, "This is where my...good example? Uh...to provide a...um...responsibility?"  
"Nice leadership noises," Tunney rolled his eyes, "And why the hell are you talking to me through a hole in the wall?"  
"Uhhh..."  
"GET IN HERE!" Tunney snapped.  
Stafford, Jeffery and Jall all scrambled through the doors and into the ready room. Valtaic, uninterested, returned to his work.  
"Not you two!" Tunney waved towards Jeffery and Jall, "Get out!"  
"Yes sir!"  
Jall and Jeffery raced back out through the doors and to the other side of the hole, looking in.  
Tunney looked exasperated. Stafford, noticing the dark look on Tunney's face, grabbed the remains of his canola field picture, quickly located a jutting piece of metal, then hung it over the hole.  
"Thank you," Tunney said dryly, "I just love what you've done with the place,"  
"Thank you, sir," Stafford replied, on reflex.  
"Shut up!" Tunney snapped, "Do you KNOW just how much trouble you've caused?"  
"Uh...none at all?" now Stafford was confused, "We fought off an alien invasion, found a giant buried space station, showed the Matrians that the Federation is there for them and contributed to the positive karma of the galaxy. We got rid of trouble! We kicked trouble's ass!"  
Tunney crossed his arms.  
"True," he conceded, "But you also went over my head and managed to get the planetary leader of Matria Prime to authorize a rebuild of a starship that Starfleet Command had ordered decommissioned. Worse, you went over Fleet Admiral Ra'al's head!" Tunney's face loomed in the small screen, "If we were in the Klingon Empire, I'd probably be dead right now!" he barked.  
"If we were Klingons, somebody would have killed her years ago," Stafford muttered. More loudly, "I didn't go to Anselia, I swear!"  
"Right. You expect me to believe that you've been sleeping with her through this whole invasion, but that she just came up with the idea to rebuild your precious little ship all on her own?"  
"Well, yeah. But...hey! How did you know we were-"  
"I know everything," Tunney cut him off.  
"Sir, I swear! She came up with this on her own!"  
"Be that as it may, do you KNOW how much paperwork is involved in rescinding a decommission order?"  
"A lot?" Stafford guessed.  
"Yes," Tunney agreed, "But NOTHING compared to the paperwork needed to give a new Federation member access to all the classified technology buried in that ship! Even if it is all fried, it's going to have to be replaced! The paperwork needed just to give them enough information to fabricate a new warp core is going to take me at least a week!"  
"Oh" Stafford cringed a little.  
"And I'm great a paperwork" Tunney went on.  
"Yes, sir," Stafford gulped.  
"Fantastic, even," Tunney continued.  
"Yes, sir,"  
"Lots of experience,"  
"Yes, sir,"  
"Which means it will probably take you about two weeks," Tunney was smiling now, "Another week for the impulse engine systems, three or four for the shield emitters. Luckily, the physical dismantling and reconstruction of the spaceframe isn't classified...but the compatibility study with the Matrian construction bots will probably take your people a while."  
"But...but..." Stafford's mouth was gaping like a fish now.  
"I'll be transmitting the details your way," Tunney said, looking downright pleased with himself, "Enjoy,"  
The screen went dark.  
"Crap," Stafford groaned.  
"We couldn't just have tried for a new ship," Jall's annoyed voice came through the strategically placed picture.  
"Shut up!"

Elsewhere in the massive space station, Lt Trish Yanick was also struggling with an interior decorating dilemma.  
"No, Pari," she said insistently, "I don't agree, I won't agree, and there's nothing you can do to MAKE me agree!"  
T'Parief, all seven-plus feet of him, looked down at the diminutive blond girl.  
"I think there is," he said, moving in closer and baring his teeth.  
"Don't be silly," Yanick bopped him on the nose, making him draw back with a reptilian hiss, "We can't make out in front of the baby!"  
"I wasn't going to...that wasn't...what baby?" T'Parief shook his head, then looked over to one corner of the large, sparsely furnished bedroom. "Yes, Trish," Dr. Wowryk said calmly, "There isn't an actual baby here, yet. Oh, and thank you so much for thinking of me as well,"  
"Right," Yanick stood firmly, "We can't make out in front of Noel, either!"  
"Thank you," Wowryk turned back to her work.  
"We aren't going to make out," T'Parief said firmly.  
"Well, I'm glad we agree!" Yanick said, sounding relieved.  
"I was not suggesting...oh very well. We agree on that," T'Parief gave up that part of the discussion, "But not on the matter at hand. The egg will NOT stay in our bedroom!"  
"Yes it will!" Yanick insisted, "See? Noel is already setting up the incubator in here, and once it's in, we can't move it!"  
"Yes you can," Wowryk chipped in, "This thing has so many backups and protective systems in it, you could throw it out an airlock and your egg would be fine for at least a day,"  
"WE'RE NOT THROWING OUR BABY OUT AN AIRLOCK!" Yanick shrieked.  
"I didn't say you should," Wowryk rolled her eyes, "Come ON Trish, calm down!"  
"The place for spawn is NOT in the same room as the parents," T'Parief said, "Such coddling...it is an insult. The child will live in the room down the hall. The second one on the left, between the second bathroom and the...which is it? The room with the torture device by the window?"  
"My sewing room," Yanick said, "And NO! I want the baby in HERE!"  
"Why do you have a sewing room?" Wowryk asked, "Do you actually know how to sew?"  
"NO, but that's not the point!"  
"The point is that you want to raise our child to be a sniveling, whining weakling, terrified to emerge from beneath your skirts!"  
"Point," Wowryk brought a hand to her mouth, delicately stifling a giggle, "Sewing room. Point."  
"Hey, I want to raise our child the way my parents raised me, and am I a sniveling weakling?" Yanick demanded, ignoring Wowryk and giving T'Parief a hard shove with both hands.  
He didn't move. Not so much as a millimeter.  
"OK, you're a bad example!" she admitted. She turned to Wowryk.  
"Whoah, hey!" Wowryk threw her arms up, "Don't go shoving me around just to prove how tough you are!  
Before Yanick could reply, there was a gentle chime coming from the front door.  
"Thank the Divine Lord!" Wowryk muttered, crossing herself and rushing for the hallway.  
"I do not think you a weakling," T'Parief said gently, "Your parents did wonderfully with you. But they did not have to consider Klingon, Andorian or Gorn parts to their child,"  
"Parian parts," Yanick corrected, "My favorite parts,"

Down the hall Wowryk rolled her eyes as a loud THUMP! sounded from behind her.  
"Sinners," she muttered, "The second I turn my back, it's right to the floor, cloths all over the place! And right in front of the baby!"  
The door chimed again.  
"I'M COMING!" she snapped.  
She crossed the spacious living room, passed the formal dining room and the broad opening to the kitchen area as she moved towards the entrance foyer. Yanick and T'Parief had spent days hunting for their temporary quarters aboard Haven, going through dozens of living units in the towers that filled the space station's inner city. Unit after unit, tower after tower, they'd all been turned down. Eventually, they had expanded their search to include the massive apartment buildings attached to the Inner Rim, and it was there that they had found their dream home.  
Apartments weren't really the right word. Externally, the buildings resembled apartment buildings merged with the towering, curved wall that was the outer boundary of the city and the inner boundary of the thick ring that held cargo bays, docking facilities, shipyards, living quarters and everything else associated with a space station. But the actual 'apartments' themselves ranged from compact, single person accommodations to sprawling luxury units that filled half the building floor. Yanick and T'Parief's home was one of these, and with it's ground-level location opening onto a spacious yard, it was about as close to a farmhouse as one could get aboard the flying city.  
Wowryk opened the front door, revealing Fifebee and Sylvia.  
"Good morning," she said pleasantly as another loud THUMP! echoed through the house, "May I offer you a beverage?"  
"What was that?" Sylvia asked, moving quickly towards the hall, "Is the baby OK?"  
"Ignore that," Wowryk sighed, "I believe that is the sound of make-up sex,"  
"Oh good, did they finally agree on where the baby is going to sleep?"  
"NO!" Yanick's voice rang from down the hall, followed by a yelp from T'Parief.  
"Pay attention to what you're doing!" he snapped.  
"Oops, sorry!"  
Wowryk pinched the bridge of her nose "Please get me out of here," she said to the two artificial women.  
"But I wanted to see the baby!" Sylvia complained.  
"We can come back later," Wowryk said.  
There was another THUMP!  
"Hey, no, my leg is going to cramp!" Yanick faintly complained.  
"I'll come back later," Sylvia agreed.

Wowryk followed the two holograms to the nearest tram station. After retrieving Fifebee s holo-relay (which was generating both their images) they boarded the tram and sat. Within seconds they were racing through the curving tunnel, then emerging into the city. Far above them, the clear dome gave a wonderful view of Matria Prime.  
"Thanks," Wowryk said, "I really needed to get out of there."  
"Too much domestic bliss?" Sylvia asked knowingly.  
"I m very happy for them," Wowryk said neutrally.  
Fifebee looked interested. She frowned for a moment as her program sifted through data, then spoke.  
"Is their successful relationship underlining your own romantic failures, leading to feelings of loneliness and inadequacy?" she asked.  
"I DON'T HAVE FEELINGS OF INADEQUACY!" Wowryk snapped.  
"Fifebee," Sylvia warned.  
"L...oh," Fifebee pursed her lips, "I apologize, Doctor. I was only curious,"  
"Forget it," Wowryk said, "I just want some quiet time. A nice walk through the empty Atriums is just right."  
Fifebee and Sylvia exchanged glances. Around them, the tram slipped into the entrance tunnel at the base of the Command Complex, turning as the tunnel curved into the Transit Hub.  
"About that..."  
"Oh, I know the shops are all closed, but I m not interested in shopping. Or dealing with strangers," Wowryk said, "All I want is-"  
The tram entered the Transit Hub and approached the platform. As it did, people on the crossover bridges, on the balconies scattered above the curving tracks and on the landings of the fancy, glass-enclosed staircases all started pointing excitedly. All Matrians, half holding video recording devices, half holding microphones and all of them now rushing to the platform where their tram was coming to a gentle stop.  
"Peace and quiet," Wowryk finished.

Back in the shipyard complex surrounding Silverado, Jeffery and Valtaic were huddled around a complicated-looking bank of terminals in a complicated-looking control room. The room was a few levels below the actual shipyard operations center, the window looking into the yard giving them a view of Silverado s navigational deflector. "Ye think Tunney meant what he said about turnin this into a paperwork nightmare?" Jeffery asked.  
"Hmm," Valtaic replied, his tone decidedly non-committal.  
"Aye, he was probably just givin Chris the grief over this whole thing...warrant he was lookin forward to gettin this old ship off the books!"  
"Hmm,"  
Jeffery moved away from the terminal, walking towards the rear corner of the room. Here another window looked into a smaller repair bay just off the main shipyard. In it, one of Silverado s heavily damaged shield generators lay carefully centered on the bay floor. An equally damaged runabout was stashed at the far end, almost like an afterthought.  
"Have ye uploaded the plans yet?" he asked.  
"No,"  
Jeffery waited for an explanation. Evidently, one was not forthcoming.  
"Why not?"  
"Because," Valtaic explained patiently, "The Captain has not yet completed the required compatibility study for the construction droids,"  
"Aye," Jeffery nodded, "So we have to analyze their performance. Havin them do some basic repairs like the shield generator is the perfect way to get him the data for the study,"  
"Agreed," Valtaic nodded, "But we cannot permit the bots to work on Federation equipment without the compatibility study,"  
"But we can t finish the study without the data...which means lettin them work on Federation equipment!"  
The two men glared at each other. Well, Jeffery glared. Valtaic absently brushed at his tunic as his agitated energy field attracted every dust mote in a ten meter radius.  
Jeffery was about to tap his comm badge when it went off.  
"Wowyrk to Jeffery!" Wowryk s voice trilled out through the channel,  
"Noel! What s wrong!" Jeffery gulped.  
"Fifebee, Sylvia and I have been cornered in the Transit Hub! Do you have access to a transporter pad? We need to get out of here!"  
Jeffery bolted for the door, intent on getting to the runabout and hopefully cranking up its transporter.  
"What is it?" he demanded, "Qu Eh spy? Matrian rebels? Those creepy parasites from Fastus IV that burrow into yer-"  
"JEFFERY!" Sylvia s voice cut in, "This isn t the time!"  
"Right, right," Jeffery emerged on the main deck of the repair bay and sprinted towards the runabout, "What is it?"  
"PAPARAZZI!" Wowryk cried.  
Jeffery skidded to a halt.  
"Really? Ye mean with flash bulbs and such?"  
"Flash bulbs were obsolete centuries ago, Simon!" Sylvia s voice replied.  
"But same basic principle, yes," Wowryk cut in.  
"Oh," Much less concerned, Jeffery opened the runabout door. He tapped at a few panels, saw that the runabout did have some power...and that the transporter buffer was completely depolarized.  
"Well," he said, "Good thing it s not an emergency, coz the only way yer comin through this transporter is in a bucket." He chuckled, "Chris ll be thrilled. He wanted ye to keep the good-will going with the Matrians, right?"  
"Thanks for nothing, Simon!" Wowryk snapped. The channel died.  
Jeffey walked back up to the construction bot control center.  
"Problem solved?" Valtaic inquired.  
"There was no problem," Jeffery smirked, "Noel just doesn t like cameras. She ll be fine,"  
Valtaic thought for a moment.  
"Don t say it," Jeffery said before he could speak, "Ah don t want some alien crack about me culture, or chivalry, or whatever. Let s just call Chris up and get an answer to this wee problem,"  
"I believe you may-" Valtaic started.  
"Jeffery to Stafford,"

Up in his ready room, Stafford was almost ready to cry. It had only been a few hours since Tunney s ominous edict, and already he had close to two dozen different padds on his desk, each with a different form or requisition. Every piece of paperwork dealing with the refit of a starship, normally handled by a well-experienced team of shipyard bureaucrats, now dumped on his lap. And made more difficult by the fact that the shipyard doing the work wasn t a Starfleet shipyard. Well, OK, it sort of was now, what with Haven being designated Starbase 341 and all, with a new Starfleet command crew inbound. But the Matrians were still relatively new members.  
"Maybe I should just blow the whole ship up and start from scratch," Stafford groaned.  
"Wowryk to Stafford," his comm-badge chirped.  
"Noel," he groaned, "I was about to call you. I need something for a headache,"  
"How about a small mob of reporters?" Wowryk asked, a bit of bite in her tone.  
"No, I don t think that would...wait, what?" he frowned, "How did reporters get aboard? The city is off-limits, isn't it?"  
"I don't care! They ve got Sylvia, Fifebee and me cornered in the Transit Hub! We re hiding in an empty shop, but there s no way out the back! I tried to get Jeffery to beam us out, but he just laughed, and-"  
"The Matrians aren t going to hurt you, Doctor," Stafford massaged his temples, "They just want to talk to the woman that helped save their civilization. Again."  
"BUT I HATE CAMERAS!"  
"And I hate paperwork," Stafford shot back, "We re both out of our comfort zones. Stafford out!"  
As the channel died, he leaned back in his chair.  
"I am SO going to pay for that later," he grumbled.  
He stared at the pile of padds.  
"On the other hand, if I can get Sylvia back up here, she can probably chew through this stuff in about thirty seconds," he said thoughtfully. He was about to call Wowryk back when his comm went off again.  
"Jeffery to Stafford,"  
"This better be good, Simon!" Stafford said impatiently, "I need to call Wowryk back! If I can get Sylvia up here, then-"  
"Noel will be fine, Valtaic and I are havin some trouble with the construction bots,"  
"I told you I need the study data before I can do anything!" Stafford snapped.  
"Aye, but we can t let the bots loose on the shield generator to get the data until we have the authorization,"  
"But I can t get the authorization without...oh f**k my life!" Stafford snapped.  
"Aye, ye see the problem,"  
"There s gotta be a waiver or something in here somewhere," he started shifting through the padds. He abruptly stopped. "Wait...yeah, you know what s happening with Wowryk. She called you already..."  
"Aye. So whot?"  
"And you just told her not to worry about it?"  
"Aye,"  
"I believe," Valtaic cut in, "That the Captain is about to point out that you have completely missed the significance of your former lover reaching out to you for assistance, the potential gain of status in her eyes had you assisted her, and the likely consequences of your failure to do so,"

Down in the shipyard, Jeffery was turning to Valtaic, his eyes as round as saucers.  
"Ye don t think she...she didn t mean anything by it,"  
"I am still learning about human culture," Valtaic admitted, "But it has been much easier to understand once I realized that when communicating with human women, one must always look for hidden meaning,"  
"I think he s got you there, Simon," Stafford s voice said over the comm, "Who knows? Maybe this is her way of saying she s interested again,"  
"BOLLOCKS!" Jeffery shouted, running for the door.  
Valtaic chuckled to himself, then turned back to his panel. What was he doing? Oh yes.  
"Valtaic to Stafford. If I may inquire about the waiver-"  
"Valtaic, follow Jeffery," Stafford s reply was immediate, almost as if he'd expected the call.  
"Why?" Jeffery s situation was in no way relevant to Valtaic s work. In fact, with Jeffery gone, he might even make swifter progress.  
"You can t seriously tell me that based on your past experience with Dr. Wowryk, you don t think what she does to Jeffery will be worth seeing?"  
Valtaic considered this.  
"Would you like me to take a camera?"  
"Please,"  
"Do you think Dr. Wowryk is interested in resuming romantic courtship with Lt Cmdr Jeffery?"  
"Not a f**king chance,"

In the Transit Hub, Wowryk, Sylvia and Fifebee were standing in a cylindrical room, roughly a third of which consisted of floor-to-ceiling windows looking out over the tram tracks two levels below.  
"I keep expecting somebody to put a coffee shop in one of these," Sylvia said, looking around the room, "It s prime location,"  
"No kidding," Wowryk muttered, "GO AWAY!" She waved angrily at the throng of Matrians clustered on a balcony less than ten meters from the left window.  
"Is it really that big a deal, Doctor?" Fifebee asked calmly, "They just want a few photos, perhaps some choice sound-bites,"  
"Yes, it s a big deal!" Wowryk snapped, "I can take space battles, and injuries, and evil aliens, but I draw the line at being harassed and photographed by a bunch of, of...nosy busybodies!"  
"Simon and Chris didn t think it was a big deal," Sylvia said.  
"Well then THEY can come deal with them!"  
There was silence for a few minutes.  
"We cannot simply stay here," Fifebee said firmly, "I have work to do. And you ll die of starvation or dehydration if we remain too long. I suggest you simply treat them the same way you treat everybody else who is disturbing you,"  
"Telling a bunch of reporters she s not interested in dating isn t going to look great in the papers," Sylvia teased gently.  
"NOEL!" Wowryk comm badge chirped.  
"Simon," Wowryk said cautiously, tapping the badge, "Yes? I am a bit busy at the moment,"  
"Just stay there! Ah ve got a fix on yer signal! Ah ll help ye out, no sweat!"  
The channel went dead.  
"Well," Wowryk looked taken aback, "That s a positive development. I m sure Simon is on his way to a working transporter right now. This whole problem will be solved in a matter of moments."  
Sylvia and Fifebee exchanged a doubtful glance.

Jeffery was not, in fact, on his way to a working transporter. Having been the senior Starfleet engineer poking around Haven since it s activation a week ago (and being on good terms with Colonel Abela) had its advantages. He d used a Traveler with command override on a turbolift and was at that moment just emerging in a corridor just off the Transit Hub. He knew Wowryk was on the third level of the hub s outer wall, in an unoccupied shop or cafe. He knew the reporters were surrounding the only entrance, and that that particular space looked out over the tracks. So he d taken the lift to the inner side of the hub, climbed up a maintenance ladder and started inching along one of the support beams that held the massive lighting panels over the tracks.  
"We were so close," he muttered to himself, "so close to gettin' to second base when things fell apart. But maybe...maybe if Ah play me cards right..."  
He pulled a length of duranium cabling from his tool belt and began securing one section of it to the beam.  
"No problem, Simon," he muttered, "No working transporters. All she needs is a way out. Just break down the window, climb onto the beam, and we re at home base! Er, Ah mean home free. Right."  
He steadied himself, just as Fifebee was turning towards the window.

"Uh-oh," Fifebee said calmly, "I believe we are about to witness a rescue attempt,"  
"Likely to succeed?" Sylvia asked.  
With a Tarzan-like howl, Jeffery jumped off the support beam, halfway between the inner wall and the shop window. He continued howling as he soared through the air, swinging along the perfect arc defined by the cable he gripped, legs outstretched to smash through the window.  
"I suspect not, no," Fifebee answered.  
Jeffery's howl abruptly stopped as he smashed into the near unbreakable transparent aluminum window, stuck for a moment, then tumbled to the hard deck several meters below.  
"SIMON!" Wowryk gasped. She turned for the exit and keyed the lock. The doors hissed open, revealing the sea of reporters. "Out of my way!" she snapped, "Somebody just fell on the tracks!"  
There were a series of gasps, then Sylvia and Fifebee watched as the Matrian reporters stampeded down the corridor, down the stairs and towards the platform, Dr. Wowryk trailing behind.  
"OH REALLY!?" Wowryk snapped, her voice fading as she turned the corner, "You mean all I had to do was yell something like that and you would have left me alone?"  
As she disappeared from view, Valtaic approached the opposite direction, a holo-recorder in one hand.  
"Did I miss the ill-conceived rescue attempt?" he asked calmly.  
"Yes, but don t worry," Fifebee replied, "I have it in my memory logs."  
"Excellent."

Down on the tracks, Jeffery was groaning as Wowryk quickly assessed his injuries.  
"Bruises mostly," she said brusquely, "That left ankle looks bad, and you may have cracked a rib. Luckily the track anti-gravity field kicked in, or you might have broken your neck!"  
"Small price to pay," Jeffery winced, "For ye,"  
"For..." Wowryk frowned, "Jeffery, what exactly do you think is happening here?"  
"Well...ye called me for help. Weren t ye...reaching out?"  
"You re one of my shipmates," Wowryk said, "We ve barely seen each other for months. Of course I was reaching out!"  
"But ye weren t...Ah though maybe ye were callin me cuz ye might have wanted to...to...date?"  
Wowryk blinked, and for a moment it seemed nothing would happen.  
Then the storm clouds rolled in.  
"SIMON JEFFERY!" she snapped, "What part of COME SAVE ME FROM A BUNCH OF NOSY REPORTERS translates to I WANT TO DATE YOU AGAIN !? Somebody ELSE can take you up to the clinic!"  
With that, she turned and stormed past the reporters.  
"No offense," she growled on the way by.  
"Oh," Sylvia groaned, looking down from the window up above, "I m not looking forward to tonight s news broadcast."

"-embarrassing day for Lt Comd Simon Jeffery, one of the-"  
There was a crash, then a groan as the newscast showed footage of Jeffery hitting the window then sliding down to the tracks below.  
"-Silverado officers currently residing aboard Haven. Rumour has it-"  
The image skittered backwards, then began to replay. Once again, the footage showed Jeffery smashing into the window.  
"-one of the Silverado officers currently-"  
The image skittered back again.  
"Oy!" Jeffery finally barked, "C mon, mate! Isn t it bad enough that-"  
"I just can t help myself," Cmdr Jall admitted, rewinding the footage again.  
"Listen, ye git!"  
"Quiet, all of you!" Stafford grumbled.  
"-one of the Silverado-"  
"I did not say-"  
"Fifebee!"  
"-anything," Fifebee finished quietly.  
"But it goes even FURTHER back," Jall went on, manipulating the playback.  
"-part of COME SAVE ME FROM A BUNCH OF NOSY REPORTERS translates to I WANT TO DATE YOU AGAIN !?" Wowryk snapped on screen.  
"That s some nice camera work right there," Jall pointed.  
Stafford slammed his fist down against the table he was using, sending padds tumbling to the floor.  
"JALL!" he barked, "Jeffery has ALREADY been humiliated! Why the f-"  
"It's OK, mate," Jeffery interrupted, his voice almost a sigh.  
"No, it's NOT all right!" Stafford went on, "He's-"  
"He," Jall crossed his arms and finally turned away from the screen, "is trying to make a point."  
Stafford's eyes narrowed. The three of them, along with Fifebee, Valtaic and Sylvia were in what would, in theory, become the Silverado crew's temporary replacement for Unbalanced Equations. Steven was still setting up, and having a hell of a time figuring out to get the real wood tables he wanted for proper ambiance, but in the meantime the generic Haven lounge had plenty of generic Haven furniture. Valtaic was sitting next to Fifebee's holo-relay, an open access panel sitting next to a cup of replicated Raktajino "What point," Stafford demanded, "could possibly require you to keep rubbing Simon's nose into the fact that Noel basically emasculated him in front of the whole planet?"  
"In the interest of correctness," Valtaic spoke up, "I must point out that you are incorrect. Only an estimated 73% of Matrians even watch the total combined channels that were represented at the incident. Of course, the news feeds back to Federation space ensure that even at the 0.5% likely viewing-"  
"Honey," Sylvia shushed him, "That's fascinating, but nobody cares. Could you please get back to downloading that update for Fifebee's relay? I would really like to have a body for my own while the ship is being repaired, and the current system is very, very...glitchy."  
Fifebee gave her a look of annoyance. Sort of the look one might give a sibling who was getting increasingly invasive in her use of private space.  
"Certainly," Valtaic returned to work.  
"The point I'm trying to make," Jall said, "is that Wowryk is finished with him. Done. Finito. Frankly, with all the mild-mannered boys on this planet, I expect her to be dating within the week. And the sooner Mr. Jeffery gets it into his head," Jall moved over to Jeffery and poked him in the chest, "the sooner he'll realize that there is a WHOLE PLANET full of AVAILABLE WOMEN for him to chase after!"  
Stafford blinked.  
"He...he has a point," Stafford admitted, "C'mon, Simon...when was the last time you actually got laid?"  
"Captain Simplot," Valtaic supplied helpfully, "Stardate-"  
"Why in the name of Siri would you care about such things?" Fifebee demanded.  
Valtaic shrugged.  
"I have begun keeping track of a number of anecdotes for when I am expected to engage in social frivolities," he replied, "For example, the Captain was last treated for Senousian chlamydia on Stardate-"  
"Right, thanks, we get the picture," Stafford cut him off and turned back to Jeffery, "But Simon, just think of all the things you haven't done for the past few years because you've been trying to impress Wowryk?"  
Jeffery looked thoughtful.  
"Aye, it's been a while..." he said slowly.  
"In fact, you and I haven't hung out in ages either," Stafford went on, pushing his pile of padds back into a carry-bag, "And I need a break from this paperwork."  
"Are ye thinkin' whot Ah'm thinkin'?" Jeffery was starting to look eager now.  
"I think I am," Stafford nodded, "Jall! Where's the best night-spot on the planet? I'm talking bar-crawling-"  
"-beer slamming-" Jeffery added.  
"-strip-teasing-"  
"-street-stumbling-"  
"Wait, wait, stop," Fifebee abruptly interrupted, "Sir, you are being highly illogical,"  
Stafford and Jeffery turned to her.  
"Fifebee," Jeffery asked, "Why would there be anything logical about going on a bender?"  
"You are asking Cmdr Jall where to find bars, strip clubs and other assorted diversions," Fifebee explained, "Do you really wish to spend your evening moving from one...what is the word...'sausage-fest' to another?"  
Jeffery and Stafford exchanged a look.  
"She has a point," Stafford admitted.  
"Let's go find Lt Cmdr Stern," Jeffery suggested.  
"Yeah," Stafford agreed.  
The two of them high-tailed it out of the room.  
"You just ruined," Jall said slowly, "What might have been the funniest, most hilarious bar disaster of the decade."  
"San? Sweetie?" Sylvia said, "Stop your evil plotting and help Valtaic install this upgrade!"  
"Yeah. Fine."  
Neither of them noticed the nondescript woman in the corner, her Starfleet uniform bearing the gold of Engineering/Operations. They also didn't notice the interested glances she'd been throwing at Stafford and Jeffery for the past hour.  
And they didn't notice when she followed the two men out of the room, either.

"What do you mean nobody's in charge of security right now?" Wowryk demanded.  
"I mean exactly that," T'Parief said flatly, his deep voice seeming to make the deck plates rumble in Haven's Command Center, "Until the new Starfleet crew arrives to take control of the station, we have only a few administrative personnel on board,"  
"Then how do I get rid of all those gossiping reporters?" Wowryk asked.  
"How do you usually get rid of irritants?" "I kick Commander Jall out of Sickbay!"  
T'Parief smiled.  
"I guess you two have something in common after all," Yanick giggled. She was walking around the lower walkway, egg firmly held in her arms.  
"The reporters you refer to have already been ordered to leave the station," T'Parief returned to business, "As you know, the Matrian government is restricting access to the city until further notice. However, security is not as tight as it could be. They may return. And, of course, if you return to the planet there will be nothing to stop them from approaching you."  
"Can't you do anything?" Wowryk asked.  
"Perhaps the Captain will assign a few personnel from handling shipyard security to assist with city security for the time being," T'Parief tapped his comm-badge, "T'Parief to Stafford,"  
No reply.  
T'Parief tried again.  
"What?" They could barely make out Stafford's voice though the overwhelming sound of music, voices and what might have been Jeffery trying to pick up a woman by asking her if she wanted to see his hydrospanner.  
"I would like to discuss-:  
"I can't hear you," Stafford shouted, "Look, can this wait?"  
"-not going to get anywhere with a corny pickup line like that-" a woman's voice broke into the channel.  
"-unless it's an emergency. Stafford out!"  
Silence fell over the command center.  
"Did those assholes go clubbing without me?" Yanick demanded.  
"You're about to be a mother," Wowryk chided her, "They did the right thing,"  
"But...wait," Yanick blinked, "Was Jeffery hitting on a woman? That wasn't you?"  
Wowryk considered.  
"Apparently," she admitted.  
"Excuse me, Cmdr T'Parief?" A young-looking Matrian man, far too young-looking to be wearing the rank of Major that was none the less affixed to his uniform, had leaned over the railing from the command deck, "Uh, we have a Federation courier requesting permission to dock,"  
T'Parief frowned.  
"I was not aware of any Federation ships arriving today," he said, "Or for the next week, for that matter,"  
"Do you want me to tell them to turn around and go home?" the major asked, "Because...you know...that doesn't sound very neighborly to me,"  
"Did you run their registration and encrypted friend-or-foe ID against the Federation database, like I showed you?" T'Parief was almost purring now.  
"Well...well yeah..."  
"And did they check out?"  
"Um..." assorted beeping from the panel, "Yes."  
"Then," T'Parief said, "as this is your planet and your city, you are free to do as you wish. My security needs have been met,"  
"But...but what do I DO?"  
"For your sake," Wowryk said dryly, "Hope that it's your new command staff, arriving early,"  
It was not the new Haven command staff. Nor was it anyone associated with them.  
The courier docked at one of Haven's docking ports with practiced ease, the pilot engaging docking clamps, powering down ships systems and sending in a request for refueling after the long flight from the core of Federation space before the single passenger, a beautiful blond woman, had even made her way out of the airlock. As planned, her contact was already there waiting for her.  
"He's down on the planet," the contact, Lt Melissa Swelts informed her, "I've been following him for the past two days, ever since I was told you were coming. But I don't understand-"  
"You don't have to understand," the woman cut her off, "this man-"  
"Actually you're right," Lt Swelts held up a hand, "I don't need to understand. All I need to know is that Capt Baird needed a favour, and if that favour means keeping an eye on Lt Cmdr Jeffery for a few days, then fine. But if I don't get back to the Vendome soon, Captain Saint-Germaine is going to declare me AWOL,"  
"Right, I'm sorry," the blond said, "I didn't mean to be rude. It's just...well, I've got a score to settle with this one."  
"Whatever," Swelts said, turning to leave, "Best of luck. Oh, and here's his comm-badge locator frequency. He's down on the planet, bar-hopping with the Silverado Captain." She tossed a chip back toward the blond, who caught it easily.  
Commander Carly Nance absently passed the chip from hand to hand. It would be an easy matter to locate Jeffery with this, even in the middle of a planet full of aliens. She just had one minor matter to take care of first.  
Leverage.  
"You know what this place needs? More chairs. Or a lounge. Or something," Yanick complained, still holding her egg as she walked the second level of the command complex with T'Parief and Wowryk.  
"Neither of you are required here," T'Parief said bluntly, "No activity is expected. The Matrians are monitoring the sensors, the first of the new Starfleet crew is arriving within the week,"  
"And we actually don't really need you up here either," the young major said, poking his head back over the third level railing. He saw the glower T'Parief sent his way and immediately cringed back.  
"That's not what I meant! I mean, if you wanted to go relax, we can take care of things here and comm you if there's a problem! But we more than appreciate you staying around just in case...and...well...um...thank you?"  
T'Parief said nothing, merely flicked his tongue out as if to taste the air, then turned back to the women.  
He was about to speak when the Matrian major poked his head back out.  
"Um...it's actually a good thing you didn't leave," he said, "We're getting a message from Starfleet,"  
T'Parief took the steps to the upper level three at a time, found an empty control pulpit and confirmed his identity. The message flashed up on the screen.  
"You better call the captain," Wowryk said, reading over his shoulder, "He's not going to like this,"  
"No, I imagine not," T'Parief said.  
Stafford was, at that moment, gazing at the bottom of a glass that was almost but not quite entirely unlike a typical human beer pint as the last dregs of his 'beer' drained away.  
"You know," he said, "I think these bar runs were a lot more fun at the Academy because we were pretty much limited to the kind of beer we could get on Earth,"  
"Nay," Jeffery said, nursing some pink concoction that had apparently been grain at one point. And had, so they told him, been fermented into some sort of ale, "We were younger. And we had the rest of our squad with us. That's the thing."  
"No Simon, it's this Matrian stuff," Stafford grimaced, grabbing a menu, dropping a clear piece of Dillon Enterprises Quick-E-Trans over top and reading the translated results. (Their marketing division was still reeling from the product's disastrous similarity to Quik-2-Trans, a near-instant and luckily temporary gender reassignment technology.) "Maybe it's something in the water, but I think my bowels have just given up on this planet."  
"Too much info, mate," Jeffery said. He grabbed the menu, pointed, frowned, concentrated on getting his finger where he wanted it, then waved the waitress over.  
Then he spent another minute trying to remember where his finger had been before he'd waved.  
"Two of those, please," he said.  
"Make it three," Stafford added.  
Jeffery looked at him like he was crazy.  
"Who's the third?" he asked.  
Stafford shrugged, wobbling a bit on his stool.  
"I dunno. We'll find somebody sooner or later, won't we?"  
"I thought you wanted to go to that strip bar Stern was talking about?" Jeffery asked.  
"We're here," Stafford frowned.  
Jeffery looked around. The bar they were in followed pretty much the universal 'intoxicating beverage service facility' that was almost exactly as common as biochemistry that allowed intoxication, minus cultures were intoxication was forbidden. (But then add back the cultures were intoxication was forbidden, but happened anyway. Which was most of them.) There were tables, booths, pleasant lighting, the loud drone of conversation over what the Matrians considered music (and Jeffery considered incomprehensible). There were no naked women. Or naked men, fortunately.  
"I don't think so," Jeffery said.  
"Sure it is. C'mon, wait here and I'll get you a lap-dance. It was your birthday recently, right?"  
"Like five months ago," Jeffery said, "And Chris, nay. Ye don't have ta..."  
But he was already gone.  
Sighing, Jeffery thanked the waitress as she dropped off their three drinks. Jeffery quickly downed his, then hid the glass under the table and grabbed the third. To be honest, this night out wasn't quite turning out the way he'd hoped. He'd been full of piss and vinegar, right up until that first woman he'd tried the hydrospanner line on had turned him down. After that, he'd just sort of...lost his mojo.  
He blinked, noticing a new woman sitting at the bar, far enough that he couldn't make out her features, but close enough that he could see that she had one hell of a body...and a dress that wasn't putting any effort into hiding it. He could just get up and walk over there, say hello. Who knew? This was Matria Prime, after all. He had the advantage. He'd almost convinced himself to get up when Stafford plopped back into his chair, blocking his view.  
"Well, I have some good news, and some bad news," Stafford said, holding his hand over the right side of his face.  
"Aye?"  
"The bad news is that you're right, this isn't a strip bar," Stafford took his hand away, revealing what would probably be a black eye before long, "And the women I thought was a stripper is actually a Matrian Defense Force captain. Small world huh? Also, I might have a harassment charge on my file before we get back,"  
"And the good news?" Jeffery asked.  
"I remembered where the real strip bar is. Let's go,"  
Jeffery looked longingly back towards the bar, but the blond woman was heading towards the exit anyway.  
"T'Parief to Stafford," Stafford's badge chirped.  
"Can it wait until tomorrow?" Stafford asked.  
"Ye have to...tap the.." Jeffery stopped, trying to remember what he was trying to say.  
"Right. Stafford here," he tapped the comm badge, "Can it wait until morning?"  
"It can, but it should not," T'Parief said, also forgoing pleasantries.  
"Then it will, Stafford out,"  
"C'mon, let's find somebody we can pay to get naked," Stafford said.  
"Ooch, it sounds so perverted when ye say it like that,"  
Carly tapped her ear, turning off the audio enhancement as Stafford and Jeffery prepared to leave. She bolted for the exit immediately, plans forming in her mind.  
She knew from her (poorly translated) Map O' Matria that there was only decent strip bar nearby. And she'd need to get there fast to beat the two men and put her plan into action.  
Stafford and Jeffery arrived at the strip bar, ordered drinks, then sat very, very quietly at a small table near (but not TOO near) the stage.  
"Simon?" Stafford asked.  
"Aye, Chris?" Jeffery replied nervously.  
"This is NOTHING like Earth," Stafford gulped.  
"Ah know," Jeffery paused, "Ah'm feert, mannie."  
"What?"  
"Scared," Jeffery clarified.  
"Me too."  
The first big difference was that the dancer on the stage wasn't gyrating to anything with a pulsing beat. She instead was slowly moving to something that might have passed for classical music on Earth. That was strange, but what really threw them off was the women. The women were tall. They were beautiful, in that somewhat Nordic Matrian way. There were blonds, brunettes, a couple of redheads. And their...female assets...were both well formed and adequately sized.  
But nowhere near as large as their muscles. In fact, Stafford was certain that the two women dancing on the stage in front of him could tear him apart and make a few Olympic-record winning tosses with the pieces.  
One of the dancers wandering around the floor stopped at a table full of slender Matrian men, flexing before sitting down. She laughed at something one of the men said. A few minutes later, one of the men rose and followed her to the private dance area.  
"Aren't those little guys scared they're going to get hurt?" Jeffery asked.  
"No more than the Earth women in a male strip club, I suppose," Stafford said.  
"Hey boys," a busty brunette had sort of half-stomped, half-sashayed her way towards them, "How's it going?"  
Stafford and Jeffery noticed the swirling tattoos adorning her rippling arms before they even noticed her large but muscular chest.  
"Meep!" they squeaked.  
"Don't be shy," she sat at the table and made herself comfortable, "Is this your first time at a dance bar?"  
"Meep."  
"I guess so," she leaned over the table, placing a strong hand over each of theirs "It's OK,"  
"We...that is," Jeffery cleared his throat, "It's our first time at a Matrian strip bar,"  
"We're from out of town," Stafford added, finding his voice.  
"Oh, the Federationers," the dancer gave them a blazing smile, "That must be exciting!"  
"Y-yeah,"  
"Are the dance bars on your world like this?"  
"Surprisingly," Stafford took a long swig of his drink, "The women are just less..."  
"Beautiful? Sexy? Engaging?"  
"Muscular," Stafford finished awkwardly.  
The dancer looked taken aback.  
"Oh," she sat back, "Like her?"  
Stafford and Jeffery turned to one of the side stages, where an absolutely stunning blond woman probably human, from the look of her perfectly slender limbs was easing out onto the stage.  
"I'll just leave you to it then," the Matrian said, noticing their suddenly slack jaws, "I guess there's no accounting for taste."  
The blond was staring right at them, too. A pair of sunglasses obscured her features, but they could feel her eyes on them as her body moved. She was still dressed, if you could call the revealing bikini she wore 'dressed', and she gave a 'come hither' gesture that each man clearly understood was for him and him alone. They almost raced to the chairs along the edge of the stage, credit slips in hand.  
But before they could offer them, she dropped down beside the stage and pulled out a padd. (From where, they could not possibly determine.)  
"Now that I have your attention, boys," Carly said, "I have something for you,"  
She handed Jeffery the padd.  
"Wha...who are you?" Stafford demanded, his brain starting to switch back on,"  
"Hmmm? Oh, sorry!" Carly pulled the sunglasses off her face and looked at them expectantly.  
Stafford just shrugged and shook his head apologetically.  
"Sorry, he said, "I don't recognize you. Simon?"  
"She's here to steal our saucer!" Jeffery gasped, staring at the padd.  
"What?" Stafford demanded, grabbing it from him and reading, "blah, blah, hereby requisitioned by Deneria Shipyards...Waystation 2 project? WHAT? You can't! This is bullshit! That saucer is part of our ship and it's about to be rebuilt!"  
"Guess again," Carly said, "Fully authorized by the Fleet Quartermaster and Federation Procurement. Ambassador-class saucers are at premium right now. So we need yours,"  
"And what are we supposed to do?" Stafford demanded, the haze of alcohol in his brain suddenly lessened, "That's half our ship!"  
"You've got a shipyard, build a new one," Carly shrugged.  
"That's ridiculous!" Stafford snapped, "Simon, what..." he trailed off. Jeffery was now squinting at the woman, most of what had just been said had apparently gone right over his head.  
"Do Ah know ye?" he asked.  
Carly's face darkened with rage.

"Clearly," Dr. Wowryk said, "you two had a good night,"  
Both Stafford and Jeffery had shown up at her clinic first thing in the morning. The hangover remedies had been easy, and now Wowryk was examining the identical black eyes each man now sported.  
"And by 'good'," she clarified, "I of course mean 'perfectly sinful and depraved'?"  
"Not as much as I'd like...ow!" Stafford winced as Wowryk 'accidentally' bumped the dermal regenerator against his bruised skin, "As for why the woman who was apparently sent to come get our saucer decided to use a strip show to deliver the order, then cold-cock Simon for...well, I have no idea why she'd do that. He tried to explain, but he wasn't making any sense,"  
"Ah did, ye just weren't listening," Jeffery complained.  
"Explain it again," Stafford ordered.  
Jeffery's eyes shifted to Noel.  
"Uh...later?" he asked.  
"Jeffery, explain it NOW," Stafford repeated, trying to remain perfectly still as Wowryk repaired his face.  
"Ye remember when we were at Deneria Dry Docks, and the Captain there wouldn't fix our ship because we were late?"  
"Yeah," Stafford frowned, "What does a repair dock halfway back to Earth have to do with...oh God, she's the Engineer Collector, isn't she!?"  
"Engineer collector?" Wowryk asked.  
"Uh...nothing," Stafford closed his mouth. He suddenly understood why Simon might not want to talk about the woman he'd practically been ordered to sleep with in order to get repairs going. Except...  
"One of the engineers on the dry dock has a thing about sleeping with Chief Engineers," Stafford abruptly starting explaining, despite Jeffery's frantic attempts to shush him, "You and Simon were sort of on the rocks, so I told him to go out with her so she'd convince her boss to fix our ship,"  
Wowryk crossed her arms. Her tone was almost acidic.  
"Really,"  
"But he wouldn't do it," Stafford finished, "He was too worried about his relationship with you,"  
"We weren't on the rocks," Jeffery interrupted.  
"Simon, your entire relationship was on the rocks from start to finish," Stafford chuckled. He suddenly stopped chuckling as he realized that he'd been so worried about covering Jeffery that he'd made a strategic mistake.  
"So what you're saying," Noel said slowly, "Is that you ordered my boyfriend to cheat on me to get your ship fixed?"  
"Well, I ordered him to take her to dinner..." Stafford held up his hands, "I didn't order him to sleep with her,"  
"And Ah didn't! Ah want to be very clear on that!" Jeffery jumped back in.  
"I see," Wowryk put down the regenerator and moved to the exit.  
"Where are you going?" Stafford called, "We're still bruised and puffy!"  
"I'm getting Nurse Veeneman," Wowryk said cooly, "I'm very cross with you right now, and I would prefer not to make a scene. Or change 'bruised and puffy' to 'cracked and bleeding'."  
With that, she left the room.  
Stafford and Jeffery exchanged a look.  
"I think we got off easy-" he was cut off as the door opened again.  
"AND IF YOU EVER PULL A STUPID, REDICULOUS, PERVERSE STUNT LIKE THAT AGAIN I SHALL CASTRATE YOU BOTH WITH A DULL SPOON!" Wowryk roared. She cleared her throat and turned to leave.  
"Staff meeting in an hour, Doc," Stafford said, "At the Hub Club,"  
Wowryk nodded, then marched out.  
"Thank God," Stafford gave a sigh of relief, "I was getting worried," "Whot?"  
"Well, if she's yelling at us, she's not building up resentment that could lead to a serious breakdown, right?" Stafford explained.  
Jeffery did not look convinced.  
"Wait," he asked, "Why are we having our meetin' at the Hub Club? Also, what's the Hub Club?"

One hour later...

"This," Jeffery said, "is the dumbest way to hold a staff meeting that anybody has ever come up with,"  
"Look, Abela said it was our mess to clean up," Jall said "And I don't know about you, but I'd rather stay on her good side,"  
"You only say that because she gives you unlimited access to the transporter system for your evening night-club jaunts," Valtaic pointed out.  
"And? Now shut up and mop,"  
With an annoyed look, Valtaic grabbed a mop and began mopping. They were in the Haven Hub Club Fitness Center, the fitness club that the Silverado crew had taken over and used most thoroughly during their time trapped inside Haven. Not as a health club, but with the way the city had been locked down the club had had the only working showers and hygiene facilities. After over a month of hard use by the hundreds of Silverado crew that had hidden there, plus the Matrians and Senousians and assorted Starfleet aliens (many of whom produced sweat and other secretions that were more...volatile...than the human equivalent), well the place had seen better days.  
The bottom line was that the entire facility had to be scrubbed from top to bottom with an impressive variety of chemical cleaners. Abela had insisted that the Silverado crew clean their own mess, and Stafford had insisted that the senior staff do their part.  
"I am a warrior, not a janitor," T'Parief grumbled.  
"It's the war on germs, big guy!" Jall slapped T'Parief on the back.  
So T'Parief threw him across the room. He bounced once, then slid along the slippery floor right out of the changing room and into the pool with a loud splash. Stafford waited a moment for him to return, wringing water out of his uniform.  
"Ok, so on to the problem," Stafford said, ignoring Jall and trying to get rid of a patch of dried D'Ceti slime, "Why the hell would Starfleet send a plasma conduit engineer all the way out here to tell us they're taking our saucer?"  
"For that matter, why the hell do they even WANT our saucer?" Jall wondered, trying to fix his hair, "It's wrecked. That's why we're rebuilding it."  
"They want to use it as the base for the Waystation-2 construction, according to the orders," Stafford said.  
"Aye, Ah looked it up," Jeffery said, "They did that with the first one,"  
"I thought those saucers looked familiar. Just way, way bigger." Yanick said. She was 'supervising' the work, egg in hand. "Chris, you should use the scouring pad for that, not the sponge,"  
"You're all missing the obvious point," Wowryk chimed in. She was restocking towels, little bottles of toiletries and assorted other items in the areas that had been cleaned, "What makes our saucer special? Why bother to drag it all the way from here and force us to build another?"  
"Exactly," Stafford said.  
"Coitus interruptus," Sylvia said immediately shaking her head, "I should have known that upsetting an engineer would have consequences. And he was just so angry when I wouldn't leave he and his wife alone until they agreed to do the inspection walk-through of the ship,"  
"You think that Captain Baird requisitioned OUR saucer specifically, just because we might have-" Stafford started.  
"There's no might have, Chris," Sylvia cut him off, "We definitely...how do I put this..."  
"Cock-blocked the living hell out of a married man who wanted nothing more than to bang-"  
"You mean 'make love to'," Wowryk corrected.  
"-bang his wife?" Jall finished, wiping something sticky off a mirror.  
"Yes, thank you," Sylvia nodded, "Really, Chris if you were him, wouldn't you enjoy the chance for a bit of harmless revenge, if it came up?"  
"I guess," Stafford sighed.  
"So what do we do?" Fifebee wondered. She had flatly refused to touch any sort of organic matter and was instead conducting high-resolution scans to identify any missed spots, "I assume building a new saucer from scratch is out of the question?"  
"Nay, the bots could do it easily," Jeffery shrugged, "But-"  
"But it's part of our ship," Stafford said, wiping his brow, "Oh, ew, what did I just get on my forehead?"  
"And it's part of ME," Sylvia added, passing Stafford a towel, "I think you're forgetting that I am far more the target here than any of you,"  
"I agree," Wowryk nodded, "Other than Simon, of course."  
"What does Simon have to do with any of this?" Stafford asked.  
"Do you honestly think Deneria would send a woman who just happens to have a history with Jeffery entirely by accident?" Jall asked.  
"I don't think Capt Baird even knew what happened with her and Simon," Stafford looked doubtful, "I mean, she probably wasn't about to go up and tell him that she's been banging every Chief Engineer that's passed through that dock,"  
"Some of her girlfriends probably know," Yanick spoke up, "I mean, it's hard to hide that sort of thing, really."  
"So she volunteers for this task when it comes up," Jall shrugged, "Works for her, Capt Baird isn't any wiser.  
"I realize that my knowledge of this sort of...unseemly...behavior is limited," Valtaic was now trying to electrocute a particularly stubborn patch of mold with the palm of his hand, "But it seems most unlikely that Capt Baird would even care enough to put this sort of effort into inconveniencing us,"  
"That's actually a really good point," Stafford mused.  
"Oh really, Christopher," Sylvia looked annoyed, "He sees a piece of paperwork that crosses his desk saying they need an Ambassador-class saucer. He thinks to himself, 'Gee, I know the perfect place to get one' and simply sends the form to that Vulcan administrator of his to make it happen. Not everything is a huge, complicated plot!"  
"Then let us build a new saucer and be done with this irrelevant discussion," Valtaic said, rather snidely.  
Sylvia grabbed him by the arm.  
"Let's go have a little talk, sweetie," she said, giving the rest of them a meaningful look.  
"So now what?" Jeffery asked as Sylvia led the bewildered-looking Valtaic from the room.  
"Isn't it obvious?" Jall shrugged, "Go seduce Carly and get her to get Captain Baird to get another saucer. There's probably a closer, more convenient one anyway. And if this really is just an 'annoyance of convenience' instead of an insidious plot driven by unspeakable hatred, he probably won't take much convincing,"  
"She might," Jeffery gulped, "Ah don't think she's really interested."  
"Simon, she got nearly naked in an alien strip bar just to get your attention," Yanick almost laughed, "It doesn't matter what she says, she still wants to collect you,"  
"I agree," Jall nodded.  
"Ye would! Ye always agree with her!" Jeffery accused.  
"Because she's always right," Jall went to give Yanick a high-five, but she recoiled.  
"You have...blue...all over your hands!" she wrinkled her nose.  
"Oh, sorry,"  
"You people," Wowryk snorted, "Did it occur to you that there might be a way to do this without involving sex?"  
They all looked at her.  
"Do you know one?" Stafford asked.  
Wowryk hesitated.  
"Well..." she gulped, "Maybe? I'll have to think."  
"Well, then we'll go with this plan," Stafford shrugged, "But do let me know if you come up with something good. OK people, let's get this done!"

No sooner said than done, Jeffery was in the Outer Rim, walking through a section of quarters that had been set aside for transient Starfleet/Federation personnel. In true bureaucratic fashion, the transient quarters were not close to any docking ports, docking bays or other facilities that a visitor might like convenient access to.  
In any event, Jeffery found himself in front of the door to Carly's quarters, a bundle of flowers in one hand and a box of chocolate in the other. He awkwardly shifted the flowers to the other hand so he could ring the chime, only to have two of the flowers escape his grip and fall lazily to the floor.  
"Bollocks," he cursed, bending to pick them up. Somehow, the top of the chocolate box popped off, spilling expensive Rigellian chocolates onto the carpet.  
"Well," Carly said as the doors hissed open, "this is...pathetic,"  
"Carly," Jeffery got back to his feet, "Ah...Ah mean..."  
"Wow, she is quite the looker," Jall's voice spoke directly into his ear, courtesy of a small, hidden earpiece, "Why didn't you nail her when you had the chance?"  
"Not now!" Jeffery winced as Carly looked at him, confused and a bit suspicious.  
"Ah mean, I recognize ye now," he said, trying to cover, "Ah just...can ye honestly say it's reasonable to expect me to expect to see you in a strip bar ten sectors from home, gettin' naked?"  
"Nice recovery," Stafford's voice was next.  
"She looks like a slut," Wowryk sounded...well, as disdainful as Wowryk typically does.  
"She IS a slut," Yanick said, "Well, sort of. Of a very specific type. And what happened to that 'love the sinner' thing?"  
"Oh course," Wowryk's tone immediately changed, "I do like her hair, I suppose,"  
Meanwhile, Carly surveyed Jeffery, flowers and chocolate and all.  
"I'm not sure what this is," she said, waving in his general direction, "But I'm not interested,"  
"BURN!" Jall giggled.  
"It's an apology," Jeffery said, fighting not to let his anger show, "Ah mean, aside from not recognizing ye, we didn't really part on good terms. And there aren't many of us...engineers...out here in the Matrian Sector,"  
Carly rolled her eyes.  
"You're here," she said, "because you think that if you kiss my ass enough I can convince Captain Baird to let you keep your saucer,"  
"Perceptive bitch," Stafford cursed, "f**k!"  
"This place has six shipyards, five of them aren't doin' much of anythin'," Jeffery tried to roll his eyes in turn, but somehow only managed to cross them. He blinked. "We could build a new one."  
"Right," Carly turned to leave, "Nice try, Simon. But I doubt I could help you, even if I wanted to. This came from Starfleet Procurement and the Federation Quartermaster. Captain Baird was just asked to send somebody out here to do a quick examination of the saucer and arrange for it to be towed back to Federation space. The tug ships will be here in two weeks, by the way,"  
With that, the doors hissed shut, leaving Jeffery standing in the corridor.

"Shit," Stafford cursed, watching on the small hidden camera Jeffery had been wearing as the doors hissed shut, "So even if Jeffery DID nail her, she can't help us,"  
"Why would Procurement or the QM do this?" Jall wondered, "I mean, we haven't done anything to piss them off, have we?"  
"At this point, I've lost track of everybody we've ever annoyed," Stafford sighed. Most of the senior staff had gathered in the secret, classified Matrian Intelligence section of the city. Several MIT operatives were in the process of bringing the various systems online, but nobody had objected when the Starfleet officers had commandeered a small room filled with workstations.  
"You two are hopeless," Wowryk seemed almost amused.  
"You think we're missing something? Oh do educate us, dear doctor," Jall said.  
"You will never convince me Commander Nance came all the way out here just to see the look on Jeffery's face when she told him she was taking half his ship," Wowyk's hands were clasped calmly in front of her, "Any low-ranking junior officer could have been sent. Or a subspace message."  
"And yet," Valtaic spoke up, "She has rejected him."  
"She can't just welcome him with open arms," Yanick said, "He rejected her pretty good. He's gotta work to get back into her good graces,"  
"But if she can't help us, why would he even bother?" Stafford wondered.  
"She said she's here to do a 'quick examination'," Jall was looking thoughtful now.  
"So maybe if she says our saucer is crap, they won't want it?" Stafford turned to him.  
"Eh. Who knows?" Jall shrugged, "But...well, whatever."  
"Jeffery to Stafford," the comm chirped. Stafford tapped his badge.  
"Yeah?" he asked.  
"Ah've got to find out who told Procurement and QM to go after our saucer!" Jeffery said.  
Stafford frowned.  
"You think somebody made them do it?" he asked.  
"Ye think it's a coincidence that they just happened to pick OUR saucer for this project?" Jeffery asked, "And that Deneria just HAPPENED to find out they needed to send somebody out here? Nay! Somebody's playin' us, and Ah'm willin' to bet that Carly knows who! Ah just need to figure out how ta get her to talk..."  
Stafford turned to Wowryk and Yanick, who were wearing matching expressions of triumph.  
"Good on you for picking up on that, Simon!" Wowryk permitted herself a smile.  
"Of course," Valtaic looked annoyed with himself, "Why tell us where the order had come from, if not to imply that there was some significance...I fear I will never understand this human plotting and scheming,"  
"So what's the plan, people?" Stafford asked.  
But Wowryk was already moving towards the door, pulling Yanick by one arm.  
"Uh...Noel?" Stafford prompted.  
"Just do your thing, boys," Wowryk said, "I'm sure you'll be fine,"  
"Um, thanks?"

Outside, Wowryk released Yanick's hand.  
"We need to find Fifebee and Sylvia," she said.  
"What are you thinking, Noel?" Yanick wondered, "You don't think Jeffery can seduce the info out of Carly?"  
"Do you think Simon could seduce a prostitute with a brick of gold-pressed latinum?" Wowryk arched an eyebrow.  
"Well, no. Which is sort of why I've never understand why you were always so worried about him cheating,"  
"Because the most annoying part about him is that he's the seducee far more often than he is the seducer," Wowryk replied.  
"So what's the plan?" "Simple. Whoever is behind this, we simply need to convince them that our saucer isn't worth the effort," Wowryk said.  
"And you know how to do that, huh?"  
"I have a notion," Wowryk sighed, "But it's going to require me to do something truly...distasteful."  
"Oh," Yanick looked thoughtful for a moment, then brightened, "Yay! What's his name?"  
"You are impossible," Wowryk said. Her eyes were rolling, but there was a smile on his face, "No, not that kind of distasteful. But we're going to need Sylvia and Fifebee to help..."

Commander Carly Nance spent half the next morning trying to figure out where the hell she could get breakfast. What sort of idiot place was this? None of the shops were open, the replicator in her quarters produced something that might be food, but still managed to turn even her tolerant, Starfleet-trained stomach. And the computer was no help at all.  
She was poking around the Transit Hub when she came across a young-to-middle-aged woman in a Starfleet uniform, standing in the middle of a stairway foyer and looking thoughtful.  
"Excuse me?" Carly called.  
The woman didn't speak, turn or otherwise knowledge she'd been spoken to.  
Carly was a bit annoyed, but was more surprised. Fellow officers were usually very friendly, especially on frontier outposts like Haven. She walked around to face the woman and was surprised to see that her eyelids were fluttering rapidly, her face was perfectly impassive and there were no rank pips of any kind on her collar.  
"The Silverado computer," she said, realization dawning on her.  
The woman's eyes flew open, ghostly images sliding faintly over them. Carly had a fleeting impression that she was speaking to not a person, but a powerful intelligence, one that was processing vast amounts of data even as it directed the smallest piece of its awareness towards acknowledging her.  
Then she smiled, her face brightening and the odd expression gone without a trace.  
"Oh, hello dear," the woman said, "Yes, I'm Sylvia. May I help you? You look rather lost,"  
"I'm...uh, just trying to find a place to eat," Carly said uneasily, "That serves human food, you know? Or even something Vulcan at this point,"  
"Of course," Sylvia put a hand on Carly's back and started to guide her towards the tram tracks, "It's been an ongoing thing here. Oh, my crew has been so frustrated! They love sampling new cultures and all, but there's nothing like a taste of home, right?"  
"Right," Carly found herself allowing the woman to guide her. After the story she'd heard from Captain Baird, she'd had this image of the Silverado computer as some sort of electronic, voyeuristic parasite. Of course, Captain Baird had been very, very upset at the time, even for him. "It finally got to the point where they're going to open up their own secret little restaurant out in my shipyard," Sylvia went on, "Secret knock to get in, select crowd and all that. But all Federation food! Well, there's nothing actually there but a small replicator at the moment, but it's programmed for Earth, Vulcan, Bajoran, Centaurian and I think there's even some Klingon stuff in there. It's a start, right?"  
"And you're telling me this why?" Carly was a bit surprised.  
"Oh, you're part of the family, sweetie," Sylvia cooed, "Starfleet has to stick together, right?"  
"Right," Carly answered flatly.

Fifebee flickered into being in the seat next to Jeffery.  
"You are now in range of the holo-relay. Sylvia will be here with Commander Nance in three point two minutes," she said immediately, "Oh, and I am Jane 5-B, sentient hologram, and I would really like you to REMOVE THAT POINTLESS MANDATORY INTRODUCTION FROM MY SUBROUTINES!"  
"Can't," Jeffery said.  
"Can't or won't?" Fifebee demanded.  
"Both. Either. Ah just can't, it's policy!"  
"Hmmm," Fifebee glowered briefly, then vanished.  
"Don't piss off the holograms," Stafford advised him.  
"Wait, why is Sylvia bringing Carly here?" Jeffery suddenly sat bolt upright in his seat.  
Stafford frowned.  
"Good question," he said.  
They saw the door to what would soon be their secret restaurant open up. Sylvia walked in with Carly, who immediately made a beeline for the replicator and ordered up a plate of waffles and a big, steaming up of coffee.  
"Oh, thank the various gods," she said, standing there with a tray and only then seeming to notice the various Silverado crew members sitting in the generic furniture, eating their replicated meals. Four civilians were arguing in the corner over what sounded like kitchen designs and outside the big windows was the dark, powerless form of the Ambassador-class starship.  
Stafford and Jeffery watching in even greater awe as Sylvia guided Carly over to Wowryk and Yanick's table.  
"Is she NUTS?" Jeffery went white as a ghost, "Carly and Noel at the same table? That's like...like matter and antimatter!"  
Stafford's arm snapped out towards Jeffery and he pushed down firmly on the other man's shoulder.  
"And throwing you in the mix won't help," he said quietly, "Maybe Noel has some kind of plan?"

"-think we almost met once," Wowryk said, "I believe you were having dinner with Simon. Only he hid under the table as soon as I entered the restaurant,"  
"I'm surprised he'd tell you that," Carly said carefully. Great. Jeffery's girlfriend. Or was that ex-girlfriend?  
Wowryk laughed lightly.  
"Oh, Simon and I talk about all sorts of things," she said, "He really was a wonderful boyfriend."  
Was. Definitely ex-girlfriend.  
"Hmph," Yanick pouted.  
"Oh Trish," Wowryk sighed, "You had your chance-"  
"YOU STOLE HIM FROM ME!" Yanick accused sharply. She visible calmed herself, then turned to Carly, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't get upset. And it was a long time ago,"  
"And everything turned out for the best, right?" Wowryk asked, "After all, you have a child on the way, and T'Parief is, from what you say, an excellent and thorough lover,"  
"Yeah, but Simon still had a bigger...well, never mind," Yanick finished off the last of her fruit salad, "Speaking of T'Parief, I should go. He's been carrying around that egg all morning."  
She rose and left.  
"So," Wowryk turned her attention back to Carly "Do you know how long you're going to be with us? Trish and T'Parief are having a baby shower, probably in a month or so. And of course we'll be planning some welcoming festivities for the new Haven command crew when they arrive,"  
"I...uh, I'm only here to take a quick walk through your saucer and prep it for shipment," Carly said.  
"I wish Starfleet wouldn't do that," Sylvia sighed, "I mean, they can transfer my program to a new saucer easily. I'm actually running on a portable core right now. But there's no place like home, right?"  
"Let's not dwell," Wowryk said, turning to Carly "Oh, don't worry, we're not going to shoot the messenger. But it must be rough, being sent weeks out here just to do some paperwork!"  
"I've been able to catch up on my reading," Carly said coolly. Something was definitely up. Nobody was this nice. Not without some sort of ulterior motive.  
Wowryk's comm-badge beeped.  
"Fifebee to Wowryk and Sylvia," a female voice issued out, "Doctor, Crewman Shwaluk has been located. He has been lost in an empty part of the city for two days and is suffering from severe dehydration. I require Sylvia's assistance in mapping out further areas of the city that may be of concern.  
"Coming, Fifebee," Wowryk replied, getting to her feet.  
"Sorry, Commander," Sylvia said, "But do enjoy your meal. Give me a shout if you need anything else.  
And Carly was left sitting alone at the table, looking out at the empty starship in the bay and trying to get her bearings.  
OK then, she thought to herself. If this is some sort of scheme, then any second now either Jeffery or that guy he'd been sitting with would sit down, chat her up and try to find out what she wanted in order to help them keep her precious saucer.  
She looked around, then frowned.  
Jeffery and the other guy were both gone.

"Ye've got to let me go back!" Jeffery squirmed as Stafford hauled him down the corridor.  
"Fifebee was very clear," Stafford said, "She said it was absolutely imperative that you NOT speak to Commander Nance. And I don't know what the hell those girls are plotting, but so far it seems better that your lame pick-up lines.  
"Like yer doin' any better!"  
"Hey, I was so great at picking up Matrian girls that I was in the news!" Stafford objected.  
"Aye, bein' accused of usin' Senousian pheromones as date-rape drugs," Jeffery pointed out.  
"Falsely accused," Stafford clarified, "Remember?"  
"Oh, aye. Wonder who was behind that? We never did find out."  
They stepped into the shipyard control room. Sylvia was standing in front of a schematic of the city, her eyes doing the flickering thing they did when she was processing data. Yanick, Wowryk and Fifebee were over by the window looking into the yard.  
"You don't think that was too over the top, do you?" Yanick asked.  
"No, it was perfect," Wowryk said, "Just the right amount of spontaneity,"  
"OK. And you realize you didn't actually steal Jeffery from me, right?" Yanick continued.  
"Whot?" Jeffery wondered.  
"Forget it, Simon," Wowryk said.  
"Because I was never actually interested in him," Yanick went on, "I mean, I remember thinking he was sort of cute. But he's got such little ears, I figured he'd be pretty...well, you know. Small. Where it counts."  
"Oy!" Jeffery objected.  
"Commander Nance is proceeding towards the saucer airlock," Sylvia reported, "She should be calling us in three poin four minutes,"  
"You're tracking her?" Stafford asked.  
"Actually, I really am trying to identify any other areas of the city where somebody could accidentally become lost," Sylvia said.  
"I'm tracking her," Fifebee's voice spoke out of the holo-relay in the corner, "Though I would prefer it if I had a body with which to perform the task,"  
"You were the one worried about the relay overloading," Sylvia pointed out.  
"It's my turn to be corporeal!"  
"Five more minutes,"  
"I can't wait for that upgrade to be fully installed..."  
"Carly to Jeffery,"  
"Everybody shut up!" Stafford snapped. Once everyone was quiet, he nodded at Jeffery.  
"Aye?" Jeffery opened the channel.  
"I'm trying to get into the saucer to do my walk though, but the saucer airlock is all sliced to hell. How am I supposed to get in?" Carly's voice was carefully neutral.  
"Oh. Yeah, we had a bit of an...incident. With an evil version of...never mind. Ye have to take the torpedo bay airlock and climb up," Jeffery replied, "Ah can...Ah can give ye a hand, if ye like,"  
"Thanks, I've wandered around in a derelict ship before," Carly replied, "Out,"  
"Ah should go help her anyway," Jeffery turned to leave.  
Fifebee materialized directly in his part, just as Sylvia faded out.  
"You will do no such thing," she declared firmly, "At least, not for another half hour,"  
"Why-"

"Lt Cmdr Jeffery, would you please come give me a hand?" Carly's voice sounded exasperated over the comm, "I don't know who tried repairing this thing, but I can't make heads or tails out of this plasma manifold they used,"  
"It's a Qu'Eh part, spliced into a Federation system," Jeffery said, "And Ah'm on my way,"  
It was spooky. Exactly thirty minutes after Fifebee had stopped him, he'd stormed out of the shipyard intent on finding Carly and trying to get the information he needed. He'd barely made it to the airlock when the comm had gone off.  
He found Carly in Impulse Engineering, contemplating some of Jall's half-assed repairs.  
"She took a real beatin' in the fight," he said, "Fights," he corrected himself, "And then Jall...that's our Ops officer, he dumped a reactor overload into the systems to fry them good before the ship was captured."  
"I didn't realize how extensive the damage was," Carly shook her head, "I worked on this ship after...well, after our last 'date' on Denaria. She was old, but she worked,"  
"Aye," Jeffery sat on a console, "She did. But no more. Not until the Matrians do the rebuild,"  
Carly tossed her hair back and stripped off her tunic.  
"Ah...um..." Jeffery gaped.  
"This isn't for you," she shot a dark look in his direction, "You've made your feelings about me perfectly clear. But if I'm going to go wandering through the jefferies tubes, I'd rather be comfortable."  
She yanked a hatch open and was about to climb in.  
"Look, it was weird, OK?" Jeffery blurted, "The whole chief engineering shrine thing. But the only reason I was there...the only reason ye almost 'collected' me too is that I was...am...really attracted to ye! Yer a beautiful woman! A bit off yer head, but-"  
"You were there because your commanding officer ordered you to be there," Carly accused.  
"That wouldn't have worked if Ah wasn't interested anyway! It's just, Ah was seein' someone,"  
"Uh-huh,"  
"Look," Jeffery was pacing the small room, "Ah-"  
"Wowryk to Jeffery," the comm chirped.  
"Noel, not a great time," he said.  
"Sorry, is Commander Nance with you?" Wowryk asked.  
"Ah...whot?"  
"I'm here," Carly replied, "Could you tell your engineer I don't need help?"  
"Simon, apologize to the woman, then leave her be," Wowryk didn't miss a beat, "And Commander Nance, Trish, Sylvia and I are going down to Matria Prime tomorrow afternoon for some girl-time-"  
"What about me?" Fifebee's voice interrupted.  
"And Fifebee," Wowryk amended, "Would you care to join us?"  
Carly froze. Of all the possible things somebody from the Silverado crew could have said, that was probably the one she'd least expected.  
"I...um...sure?" she said.  
"Excellent. We'll meet you at the Silverbrook tram station and 1600 hours. Wowryk out."  
"Are they always that nice?" Carly demanded after the link closed.  
"Sylvia and Yanick would be nice to a Klingon in battle rage," Jeffery answered before he could stop himself.  
"And your ex?"  
"Noel? She's nice, unless ye piss her off. And it's easy to piss her off," Jeffery gulped.  
"Hmmm."  
"Look, Ah'm sorry," Jeffery said, "Ah just-"  
"Sylvia to Jeffery, you are required in Workshop 3. Now."  
Jeffery was torn. Carly was softening! Now would be the time! He could have her right there in the engine room, then she'd tell him who was trying to rip off their saucer, or she'd wave a magic wand and make the whole thing go away.  
On the other hand, Wowryk and Sylvia definitely seemed to be plotting something. "Ah'm sorry," he said again, then bolted.

"They've been down on the planet for hours!" Stafford complained, pacing back and forth in the still unnamed Silverado crew restaurant, "What the hell are they plotting?"  
"Ah dunno," Jeffery was flipping through various scans of Silverado.  
"They are with Patricia," T'Parief rumbled, "They may be shopping for a very, very long time,"  
"She didn't ask to borrow your credit chip, did she?" Stafford asked.  
T'Parief simple grunted.  
"Oh, sorry. That bill is going to huge, isn't it?"  
"It usually is, when Patricia borrows it," the lizard sighed, "Luckily, she pays me back,"  
"They why-"  
There was a beep from the panel.  
"Chris," Jeffery had bolted to his feet, "Incoming message from Starfleet command, text only."  
"Yay," Stafford twirled a finger, "Probably Tunney telling me that I missed some sort of paperwork deadline. I've been busy!"  
"No. Well, that came in two hours ago, but...BLIMEY!"  
Stafford ran over and leaned over his shoulder.  
"Blah, blah...acknowledge report that Silverado saucer is deemed unsuitable!" Stafford cheered, nearly smacking Jeffery in the side of the head as he arms went up, "YES! They don't want ours!"  
"Continue to next candidate!" Jeffery finished the message, "USS Chilliwack!"  
"But how...why?" Stafford wondered

"It wasn't particularly difficult," Wowryk explained. The women had returned from their outing, Carly had retired to her quarters and the Silverado officers had gathered in Stafford's downtown condo. "If she was sent out here to do an examination of the saucer, then clearly there was an opportunity for her to give her recommendation,"  
"But she never said-"  
"Simon, of course she didn't. She was trying to downplay her importance,"  
"But-"  
"Let me finish," Wowryk cut him off, surprisingly gently, "If her recommendation had been ignored, she would have been angry over being overruled, and probably would have told us who was overruling her."  
"But how did you get her to say our saucer was unsuitable?" Stafford wanted to know.  
"Have you walked through it lately?"  
"That was the easy part. Our saucer IS unsuitable," Sylvia broke in, "We really would have been better off building a new one, to be honest."  
"But that was only half of it," Wowryk went on, "Even if our saucer would take more work than it was worth, the whole reason she was here was because we've pissed people off. We had to...well..."  
"Make amends," Stafford said slowly, realization dawning on him, "That's why you girls have been so nice to her! And why you've been ordering us away from her right before we could say something that would-"  
"That would make us look bad," Wowryk said, "A tall order, believe you me,"  
"So your plan was to...be really nice to her?" Jall's arms were crossed.  
"I'm not buying it," Stafford rose to his feet, "I'm sorry, Noel. But you're usually a bit more...aggressive...than this. This whole nicey-nice thing isn't exactly your style,"  
Wowryk looked at him haughtily.  
"You rarely see my nice side because you're so busy irritating me," she said.  
"She has a point," Jall stage-whispered.  
Stafford was still looking at Wowryk, clearly expecting her to spill the beans.  
"Well, OK," Wowryk admitted, "I did have this elaborate back-up plan where I sicced a mob of reporters on her and told them she was plotting to steal half of Silverado."  
"Which sure would have been a PR nightmare for the Federation and...well, for whoever tried this stunt," Stafford nodded, "I thought you might have something a bit more devious up your sleeve."  
Wowryk glared at him.  
"Careful, or you're next!"  
"Noted," Stafford gulped.  
"In any case, we didn't have to go that route," Sylvia said, "Commander Nance may have had her history with us, but she's professional. And you know, most people respond well when you treat them as professionals, worthy of respect,"  
"Our plan would have been more fun," Jall said.  
"So what happens to Commander Nance now?" Valtaic spoke for the first time, "Will she simply leave?"  
"She's leaving tomorrow," Yanick nodded, "But before she goes..."  
The women all looked at Jeffery.  
"What?" he asked.  
"She still likes you," Yanick said.  
"She didn't...she kept sayin'..."  
"Simon," Sylvia said, "Just take her for a drink. Or supper. She's still a fellow officer, far from home. She's lonely."  
"And you might even get lucky!" Stafford chirped. Wowryk smacked him upside the head.  
"Ah guess dinner wouldn't hurt," Jeffery sighed, "Strange or not, she's still drop-dead gorgeous."  
He left.  
There was silence for a few moments.  
"Why-" Stafford started.  
"Commander Nance was humiliated the last time she and Jeffery were together," Sylvia explained before he could even ask the question, "Even if she had come here demanding Jeffery sleep with her in order to keep the saucer, she would always know that he didn't really want her, he was simply using her as a means to an end."  
"So? She had no way of knowing if Jeffery would even talk to her after she sent her recommendation back to Procurement or whoever!"  
"Especially if he made it clear he was willing to sleep with her to save the saucer," Wowryk pointed out.  
"Which is why you kept calling him away before he could get that far with her," Stafford nodded, "You had to keep his interest in her separate from the situation. Which would have been easier if you'd told us,"  
"You boys never would have been able to keep up the role if you'd known you were acting," Yanick said.  
"Even if they only have dinner tonight, she still leaves with the knowledge that he went out with her of his own free will," Sylvia said, "He went to her, she didn't have to go to him, or beckon, or blackmail,"  
"Which means that he must desire her," Fifebee concluded, "At some level. Whether they engage in coitus or not, he expressed that interest,"  
"Which means she wins," Stafford nodded.  
"You realize," Jall said, "that you girls just completely manipulated the hell out of all of us. Especially Jeffery and Nance!"  
"Oh, we didn't really manipulate Carly," Wowryk waved the concern away.  
"She's actually a lot of fun," Yanick added, "Y'know, for girl-time anyway."  
"Uh-huh," Stafford sighed, "I guess she never did say who was behind this, huh?"  
"Nope. Does it matter?"  
"Guess not." Stafford shrugged.  
"Oh, and Trish?" Jall asked.  
"Yeah?"  
"I've seen him in the gym shower. Small ears or not, that Scotsman is hung like a-"  
"JALL!"

Earth:

"...not suitable," Lydia Thompson sighed, her black nail polish gleaming in the low light of her officer in the upper levels of the Federation Humanoid Resources tower, "Well. That didn't quite go according to plan,"  
"Look, I don't know why you wanted their f-f-f-frittering saucer," Captain Scott Baird attempted to curse but was prevented by his profanity filter, "In fact, lady, I don't even know why you're involved in this crap. Or why you're bothering me. Or why Procurement made me take your call. But if my engineer says their saucer is sh-sh-sh...not worth repairing, then it's not. She might have a weird sex life, but she is really good at her job,"  
"Far be it for me to disagree with an expert," Thompson waved a hand dismissively, "Very well."  
"Great, glad you're happy. Now, can I go back to doing my job WITHOUT having HR watching over my f-f-f-frappachino'd shoulder?"  
"Humanoid Resources thanks you for your assistance," Thompson's voice was bored as she closed the channel.  
"F-f-f-fidget you!" Baird managed to get out as the channel closed.  
"Another day," Thompson sighed, "Another day, another plan."

End


	3. 2 - Standby

6.2 - 'Standby'

Author's Note: This story takes place at the same time as Halfway to Haven: Season 1. There are no relevant crossovers, so if you haven't read that series you aren't missing anything. And I will promise you upfront, this is the last season that will involve the Silverado crew in Matrian Space for a long time.

Captain Christopher Stafford took a deep breath, wiped his palms on the insta-dry sports shorts he was wearing and turned to address his science officer.  
"Are we ready?"  
"One moment," Lt Comd Jane Fifebee said calmly, the eyes of her holographic avatar flickering as she accessed the city computer systems.  
"C'mon, girl," Commander San Jall complained, hopping on the spot while he adjusted his sweatband, "I'm stoked! I'm good to go! I'm high on life! And coffee. And if either of those wear off before we get started..."  
"Then the rest of us will kick yer arse," Lt Comd Jeffery finished for him.  
Lt Comds T'Parief and Riven Valtaic, the two most obviously alien members of the group, simply exchanged a glance and said nothing. Well, they didn't speak. But T'Parief's glance said very clearly 'I really hate that annoying man. With the Captain's permission, I would have killed him long ago.' Valtaic's was less wordy, simply saying 'I am ready to begin.' Valtaic's race was sort of funny like that. No social pleasantries, no white lies, no making conversation for the sake of conversation. Oh, he made a few efforts in order to better fit in with the rest of the crew, but by and large he preferred silence to inane chatter.  
"We'll be cheering for you, Pari!" Lt Trish Yanick's voice came over the public address system, "Well, I mean, I'll be cheering for you. The egg is just going to...well, sit here. But I'll be cheering!"  
"Maybe you should let me hold the egg for the next few minutes," Dr. Wowryk's voice cut in, "Cheering, jumping and fragile shells don't mix well, and you left the harness in your quarters again!"  
"OK," Yanick replied.  
"Yes, just hand it-WHOAH!" Wowryk exclaimed, "That's slippery!"  
"Yeah," Yanick sounded sheepish, "Pari took his turn warming it before the race, and he got his gooey sweat all over it. I haven't had a chance to wipe it off yet,"  
"Well, I suppose that's beneficial to the parental bonding...oh, is that microphone still on?"  
Down on the main event floor, Stafford was pinching his nose while Jeffery and Jall made somewhat disgusted-looking faces at T'Parief.  
He eyed them coolly, daring them to comment or claim that human sweat was any better.  
They said nothing.  
"Fifebee, can we get this show on the road already?" Stafford asked.  
"I am having difficulty locating the proper Matrian configuration files and announcement scripts," Fifebee claimed, "I assume you desire the authentic experience?"  
"At this point, I just want to get going" Stafford said, "Can't you wing it?"  
"Considering that 'it' is a mechanized obstacle course with moving platforms, wind generators, rain sprinklers, floor sections that can be electrified, gel cannons and other physically challenging obstacles, it may be unwise to, as you say, 'wing it'," Fifebee replied.  
"It's designed for fun and recreation, it's not a death-trap, by the Goddess!" That was Colonel Myress Abela. The Matrian woman had only recently come out of nearly two centuries in stasis. She'd been found in the hidden city of Haven by the Silverado crew and had been instrumental in defeating the Qu'Eh invasion. Following that bit of fun, the Matrian Government had assigned her as First Officer of the giant orbital city. She'd overseen the construction of the city and was eagerly getting everything up and running. Including the Obstacle Training Course that had been built near the sports centre in the Outer Rim.  
"As you wish," Fifebee nodded, "I believe I have located a near-equivalent Terran-"  
"Just go!"  
"Ahem," Fifebee flickered again, then spoke:  
"Hello, and welcome to the Aperture Science...um...the Haven Robotic Obstacle Training and Testing Centre. In the course of your testing adventure, you will..."  
As Fifebee went on, Sylvia did a face-palm. "Nice choice of role models, Jane," she muttered.  
"...and remember, testing is the future! And the future starts with you! Unless you are old, feeble, or irradiated in such a way that the future should not start with you. In which case-"  
"Fifebee!" Stafford snapped.  
"Right." Another flicker. Ahead of the five racers, the obstacle course jumped to life! Moving panels in the floor and walls jumped into position, forming a series of steps leading from the start line to the first obstacle, five low tunnels. Behind each tunnel was a steel slide, leading to a series of small platforms crossing over an electrified section of floor.  
"GO!" Fifebee shouted.  
All five of the men jumped forward, taking the steps two at a time. T'Parief took the lead briefly, his muscular legs propelling him up the steps in half the time it took the other four. Unfortunately, he barely fit in the tunnel, losing precious seconds squeezing through while Stafford and Jall caught up. Jall dove through with surprising dexterity, but Stafford more clumsily dropped to his knees to crawl through. Valtaic and Jeffery weren't far behind.  
They all hit the bottom of the slides within seconds of each other and jumped easily across the floor section. Following that was a steep ramp with a series of ropes hanging from the top. T'Parief and Jall charged ahead, grabbing the ropes and hauling themselves up, followed by Valtaic. Stafford and Jeffery started lagging, pulling themselves to the top as the rest were preparing for the next obstacle: a large open pit. Halfway across was a thick bar, just perfect for swinging oneself across the gap.  
T'Parief, however, simply launched himself across the pit with one push of his massive legs. He fell short of the far edge though, managing to catch it with one clawed hand! Valtaic jumped for the bar, but at that moment the powerful wind generators kicked in, sending him off to the side, missing the bar. Stafford and Jeffery waited until the gust died down, then swung across the pit.  
Valtaic wasn't out though. Just before hitting the floor, he pulsed his energy field, an organ in his chest sending power surging through the network of conductive minerals in his skin. There was a loud CRACK and a flash of sparks as he bounced off the floor and was propelled over the edge of the pit. Unfortunately, the next obstacle was a balance-beam suspended over a pool of water. Valtaic landed with a splash and a cry of dismay. T'Parief, who had just started across the beam, jerked as the water shorted out Valtaic's energy field, falling in with a matching splash.  
Stafford and Jeffery paused, waiting to see if it was safe to start across the pool, but this cost them as Jall leaped onto the balance beam, sprinting across the pool and taking the lead. Jeffery and Stafford moved after him, with Valtaic hot on their heels. T'Parief, slowed a bit by the shock, moved to follow.

"Does that count as cheating?" Yanick asked Wowryk as they observed from a comfortable lounge set up above the track, "I think that counts as cheating,"  
"Well, we don't have a Matrian rulebook handy, so I really don't know," Wowryk replied.  
Wowryk's padd beeped as Sylvia's face appeared on it.  
"I don't think it counts as cheating," she said, "It was really more of a reflex action,"  
"That just happened to cost Pari the lead," Yanick said sourly.  
"It's not over yet," Sylvia shrugged.

The next obstacle was a ten meter climb up, with only rock-shaped hand and footholds for purchase. As Sylvia might have predicted, T'Parief's superior strength let him catch up to the others, though Valtaic also proved surprisingly adept at climbing and managed to pull alongside Jall. The next obstacle, however, was a doozy. It was another gap, though this one at least lacked water, goo or an electrified floor. But to cross this one, the competitors would have to jump their way across four lines of moving platforms, frogger-style. To make matters even worse, Fifebee's voice spoke up, informing them that a platform would collapse three seconds after being touched. Five ladders led up from the pit back to the starting point.  
Jall and Valtaic leaped from th edge, both landing on platforms. But at that moment the rain sprinklers kicked in. Jall slipped, falling to the padded floor while Valtaic paused long enough for his platform to suddenly tip, sending him down as well. T'Parief attempted to charge straight across without stopping, however he hit a gap on the last row of platforms and fell to the floor. Stafford and Jeffery moved slower, making it almost to the edge before Stafford hit a gap and Jeffery paused just a bit too long.  
In the meantime, T'Parief was on his second attempt when he slipped on a platform, landing on Stafford and Jeffery. A brief shoving match took place, and by the time they made it back to the starting point Valtaic had managed to tumble down again.  
They all made it across on the next attempt, but now Jall was back in the lead. He was already leaping up the next obstacle, a series of randomly spaced steps leading up to another series of tunnels.  
The other four scrambled to catch up, but only T'Parief managed to close the gap before Jall disappeared into the tunnel. In his mind, the other three were irrelevant. Stafford and Jeffery were both fit, but neither worked in an especially physically demanding position. Valtaic was more of an unknown...but even having one of them win was preferable to allowing Jall, the bane of his existence, to best him.  
With that thought coursing through his mind, he put on an extra surge of speed, flinging himself through the tight tunnel and falling out the other side, landing in a tucked roll and springing up at the last obstacle, a series of monkey bars suspended over another electrified patch of floor.  
It was a photo finish, both T'Parief and Jall breaking the light beams marking the end of the course at the same time. Stafford heaved himself through next, followed by Valtaic and Jeffery bringing up the rear.  
"Excellent," Fifebee spoke, her holographic body appearing next to them, "Remember, the City of Haven Bring-Your-Daughter-To-Work day is the perfect time to have her tested!" She shook her head. As she did so, the various platforms and devices making up the obstacle course closed up and returned to their stored positions, leaving only a bare, flat running track. "Excuse me. Congratulations to our two winners, Commander Jall and Lt Comd T'Parief."  
Jall stuck his hand out to shake T'Parief's hand, but the big lizard just glared at him, a deep rattle coming from deep in his throat.  
"Oh come on, be a sport!" Jall complained.  
Another rattle.  
"T'Parief, just shake his hand so we can continue," Stafford wheezed.  
Looking like he was about to stick his hand in a dung heap, T'Parief briefly shook Jall's hand.  
"Good," Stafford said, still trying to catch his breath, "This concludes the USS Silverado Senior Officer's Challenge. I hope you're all feeling...I don't know. Motivated? Full of good morale? Can somebody remind me why we put ourselves through this?"  
"My morale has improved," Valtaic stated.  
"Ah think Ah'm gonna poop out a kidney," Jeffery groaned.  
"But did you have fun?" Colonel Abela asked, walking down from the referee walk that ran the length of the course, "That's the important thing. We included this course so that physical training could be fun as well as challenging,"  
"I had a grand old time," Jall said happily, "But then I spend more time in the gym that most of these guys"  
"Physical fitness is important," Abela nodded, approvingly.  
"Physical fitness my ass, I want to stay sexy enough to get laid!" Jall replied.  
"Oh geez," Stafford grumbled.  
"Which way to the showers?" Valtaic asked, to the point as always.  
"Take a left down that passage," Abela waved,"Then it's men on the left, women on the right,"  
"Jall, there's no women here, so you can take that one," Stafford said.  
"No, he can't," Abela snapped.  
"I promise not to peek," Jall rolled his eyes, "Y'know...any more."  
"When's your new crew coming in, by the way?" Stafford asked Abela.  
"Queen Anselia and Admiral Verithi are working on that," Abela replied, "Until the Federation decides who is getting command of the city, I will just carry on myself,"  
"Well, we'll be over in Shipyard Three if you need us," Stafford said, "I'm making some progress on the paperwork, we're hoping to start work on the ship soon."  
"I'm sure my staff and I can manage without your assistance," Abela smiled confidently.

Two days later:

Stafford dove behind a cargo container as phaser fire seared the air above his head.  
"I thought you said your staff could manage!" he snapped at Abela.  
"We were managing just fine until your people decided they had to 'help'!" Abela shot back.  
"Hey, Major Jakerd called US when the Vulcan ship arrived! He said they were 'creepy'!"  
"Major Jakerd thinks EVERYTHING is creepy!" Abela snapped back, popping up long enough to fire back. Lt Comd Stern and several other members of the Hazardous Team were three containers over, laying down covering fire as T'Parief tried to get closer to the enemy.  
"Well, he was right this time!" Stafford said, "It's not easy to spot a Romulan disguised as a Vulcan!"  
"That's no reason for your people to shoot them and chase them halfway around the station!"  
"THEY WERE PLANTING A BOMB!"  
At least, Stafford was 99% sure that's what the three Romulans had been doing when T'Parief and the Hazardous team had tracked them down. The Silverado officers had been somewhat bored, so the call from Major Jakerd had been a welcome distraction. Once T'Parief had reported their bomb-planting activities, half the Silverado crew had wound up chasing them through downtown Haven.  
"They were planting a bomb," a new voice broke in, "And we were about to stop them," That voice wasn't Abela's, it was one half of the trim, annoyingly attractive Bajoran couple that had arrived shortly before the Vulcans/Romulans. The male had skidded alongside Abela and Stafford, managing to return fire in the direction of the bad guys while the female, two cargo containers over, lobbed a couple of stun grenades.  
"In fact," he went on, "my partner Tarina was in the process of seducing the one guarding their get-away ship while I was ready to slip right in behind the others and disarm the bomb. There was no reason whatsoever for ANY of you to get involved,"  
"This is MY city!" Abela snarled, returning fire again, "Who the heck are you to tell me where I may or may not get involved!"  
"Special Agent Astal Jerum, Starfleet Intelligence,"  
"Ohhhhhhh, shit," Stafford groaned, banging his head against the cargo container, "Now we've REALLY stepped in it,"  
"You most certainly have," Agent Astal replied, "You've managed to blow our cover AND spook the Romulans. Tarina and I were looking forward to a long, quiet assignment out here, now we're probably going to end up on another mission to Cardassian space. Thank you for that."  
Abela gave Stafford a look.  
"Hey, I'm sure you just love dealing with Matrian Intelligence," he said to her.  
Abela just grunted.

Less than fifteen minutes after the last of the Romulans were rounded up, Stafford and Jall were summoned to the Shipyard Three Control Centre. Larger than Silverado's bridge, the room was the command and control hub for the shipyard that would be tearing Silverado apart, right down to the space-frame, and rebuilding her. Hopefully good as new. For the moment though, the main display screen that had been showing design schematics for an Ambassador-class ship was showing the angry, goatee-ed visage of Admiral Edward Tunney.  
"-exposed not one but TWO Starfleet Intelligence agents, interfered with a sensitive operation and, all-in-all, managed to royally screw up!"  
"Yes sir," Stafford grumbled.  
"Wait," Jall looked back and forth between Tunney and Stafford, "OK, we didn't have any way of knowing those two were SI. And we stopped the bomb and caught the bad-guys...just not as neatly as they would have. So...why is this a major screw-up instead of an ordinary, normal, old-fashioned screw up?"  
"Captain Stafford," Tunney settled back into his seat, "Would you care to explain it to him?"  
Stafford sighed.  
"We weren't supposed to get involved. If we hadn't gotten involved, this wouldn't have happened. We're supposed to focus on rebuilding our ship-"  
"YOU are supposed to be down on the planet!" Tunney cut him off, "You're still the Federation Adviser to the Matrian Council! Why are you even up on the space station?"  
"Well...my people..."  
"Have their own work to do! Do you know how long it's been since anybody tried building an Ambassador-class ship? Never mind RE-building one? Or using it as a teaching lab for a new member planet? Your 'people' are going to be shaping what shipbuilding in that sector is going to look like for the next century and they sure as shit don't need you sticking your fingers in the mix!"  
Tunney slammed a hand down on his desk.  
"Stafford, get your ass down to the planet and STAY there! Jall, you're supposed to be helping with the study of leftover Qu'Eh technology! So get to it! Tell that snivelling little engineer of yours to get his people to work already! And BOTH of you, STAY THE HELL AWAY FROM ANYTHING THAT DOESN'T INVOLVE YOU! That includes the Haven crew, the surrounding space...if I want you poking your nose around in something, I will tell you,"  
"Yes, sir," Stafford said glumly. Jall echoed him.  
"Now, if you'll excuse me, my SI counterpart is trying to figure out how to get replacement agents out there in something less than a month. And if you two do anything to screw up the next pair, I swear you'll be flying a garbage scow!"  
The screen cut out.  
"Well," Stafford grunted, "So much for building morale."  
"I dunno," Jall shrugged, "if I were you, about to spend a month or two in a city where women outnumber men three to one, and with a government promoting the making of as many babies as possible..."  
"I guess there's that. Wanna come along?"  
"God no,"

"So that's that," Stafford said to his assembled officers. He'd gathered his senior officers, Beta shift officers, Gamma shift officers and even a few others into the big lounge looking out into the shipyard. Steven was slowly converting the place into a restaurant/bar, but so far it was a bland room with windows, chairs and tables.  
"None of us are to interfere with the Haven crew in any way, shape or form. They've got their orders, we've got ours. Major Dekaire will be our Matrian liaison and will be running the shipyard. Lt Comd Jeffery, you and your staff are obviously staying here to oversee the rebuild. Lt Comd T'Parief, you and your staff are responsible for shipyard security," Stafford looked down at his padd, "Uh...what else? Jall and Valtaic are going to the study Qu'Eh technology. Fifebee and Sylvia, you're going to be our...liaisons to the construction bots,"  
"We are overseers to those brainless automatons?" Fifebee lifted an eyebrow.  
"I was going to say 'troubleshooters', 'pit crew' or 'programming assistants', but I thought I was being politically correct by saying 'liaisons' instead," Stafford said flatly.  
"Thanks, Chris," Sylvia said cheerfully. Fifebee rolled her eyes.  
"Yanick, you and Dr. Wowryk are coming down to the planet with me," Stafford went on, "Yanick, you're taking on your Starfleet Liaison role again, Wowryk you're going to be helping the research team studying the Qu'Eh control collars,"  
"Do you have something more specific for me than 'Study Qu'Eh stuff'?" Jall asked. Valtaic was thinking something along the same lines, but assumed that it would be passed on eventually "You and Valtaic are going to help study one of the Qu'Eh wrecks that was left behind after the fight," Stafford said.  
"Based here, or on the planet?" Jall asked immediately.  
"I don't c-" Stafford raised his arms.  
"Planet," Jall cut him off.  
Stafford let his arms fall.  
"What the hell happened to not wanting to be on a planet where the women outnumber the men three to one?" he demanded, exasperated.  
"Uh, it's also a planet that's just desperate for a party. I just didn't want to go there with you. Or work in the government sector." Jall said, as if talking to an idiot, "Besides, I could laid in the middle of the Vatican if I set my mind to it. I'm just that awesome."  
"Fine. Whatever. I hope you get every Matrian STD there is out there," Stafford tossed the padd on a table.  
"I'll do my best!"  
"That's it, people," he finished, "A few more months, then we can finally bid a fond farewell to this place. Dismissed."  
There was grumbling as everybody filed out, mostly at the news that they wouldn't be heading back to Federation space anytime soon. T'Parief, however, had something more specific to grumble about.  
"You are separating me from my mate and spawn before the egg has even hatched," he said to Stafford, once everybody except the senior officers had departed.  
"Look, I'm sorry, big guy," Stafford said, "But I need Yanick on the planet and you up here. If it makes you feel better, she's going to be working a 9-5 sort of deal. She'll be back up every weekend...well, three days out of every eight, by the Matrian calendar,"  
"Unacceptable," T'Parief stated, "She and you require protection. There are still Matrian rebels, possibly Qu'Eh saboteurs, the standard assortment of criminals and never-do-wells,"  
"Send the Hazardous Team," Jall piped up.  
"Ohhh, oh no," Stafford said, "Not after the last time we let them loose on the planet..."  
"They go. As do I," T'Parief crossed his arms.  
Stafford gulped.  
"Well, it's not like it's that hard to change assignments," he sighed, "I mean, we're just a transporter beam away," He thought for a moment.  
"OK, you and the Hazardous Team can come down for now. The rest of your staff can help the Matrians with shipyard security. But I want it understood that I can order you back here anytime if I think I have to!"  
T'Parief considered for a moment, then nodded assent.  
"OK," Stafford turned to leave, "If everybody is all happy and feeling the warm fuzzies for their assignments, let's get to it."  
"Actually-" Jall started.  
"I don't care," Stafford cut him off, "You've got the warm fuzzies and you are happy. End of story,"

Days of our New Lives

Jeffery

Day Zero:

Jeffery, Sylvia and Fifebee stood in Three-See-See, the current nickname for the Shipyard Three Control Centre. Outside the observation windows, the USS Silverado hovered in the weightless shipyard environment. Hundreds of Matrian construction bots floated in the space around her, their various grasping arms holding scanners, cutters, wielders, micro-tractor beam emitters and holographic cameras. Waivers had been completed, authorizations to operate had been obtained. The plan was that they would tear Silverado apart starting with the hull plates and working their way in. Each piece would be identified, along with its place in the ship, right down to the screws in the light fixtures. Each piece would be analyzed, and the slightest sign of damage would mean a trip to one of two dozen replicator units for re-fabrication. In front of Jeffery was a glowing activation button.  
"Ah really don't feel so sure about this," he said, "Ah mean, these bots haven't been used in centuries,"  
"We reviewed their programming," Sylvia shrugged, "They aren't very different from Federation shipbuilding bots."  
"They repaired the damage the Qu'Eh did to Haven with little difficulty," Fifebee pointed out.  
"That was a broken hanger door and a few scorch marks," Jeffery's lips twisted, "This is...we're talking about me girl here!"  
"Who?" Major Dekaire stepped up from behind them, "Lt Comd Jeffery, haven't you pressed the button? We specifically waited because you wanted to be the one to press the button,"  
Looking embarrassed, Jeffery reached out towards the button. The bots weren't that bad, he had to agree. They were basically humanoid, but their exposed skeletons, servos, cables and components firmly put them in the 'robot' category as opposed to 'android'. Instead of shoulders they had an oval track ring on which a good half-dozen articulated arms were mounted. The arms could spin around the track as needed, each equipped with a different tool. Various clips and attachments for storage were carefully placed around their bodies. Their heads were capsule shaped, with a pair of glowing red optical sensors and a speaking grill. Mechanically speaking, they were well-designed and efficient. The years spent constructing Haven and its predecessor, Old Matronus, had given the Old Matrians plenty of time to work out all the kinks. Much like centuries of Starfleet shipbuilding had refined their construction techniques to a fine art. Sadly, the Matrian Gender Wars had taken a horrible toll on resources, technology and stored information, leaving Haven's robotic work force vastly superior to what the other Matrian shipyards had managed to cobble together.  
But the questions Jeffery couldn't get a clear answer on was deceptively simple: How smart were they? Not human smart, he didn't think. But working with Sylvia and Fifebee had taught him that artificial intelligence was something very real, and something not to underestimate.  
He pulled his hand away from the activation button.  
"Ah just think we need to know more about these bots first," he said, "Ye worked in one of the modern-day Matrian shipyards after the Reawakning, aye?"  
"Yes," Dekaire said, "And the robots there are inferior to these. As with most of our modern technology,"  
"It's not that your technology became inferior," Fifebee corrected, "It's that the people assembling, preparing and operating it didn't know what they were doing. With proper work and configuration, most of your so-called modern technology could be restored to something very close to Old Matrian efficiency,"  
"Thanks, we know," Dekaire gave Fifebee one of those 'I'm not an idiot' looks that Fifebee seemed to receive fairly often these days.  
Jeffery still hesitated.  
"Maybe we should test a couple of them out on a runabout first?" he said, "The Assessippi took heavy damage when we used it to rescue the captured crew, and the Niagra-"  
"Lt Comd Jeffery, if you do not push that button right now, I will push it for you," Major Dekaire snapped, taking a step closer.  
Jeffery flinched back from the tall Matrian woman, his right buttock brushing against the activation panel.  
"Reconstruction Sequence Initiated," intoned the flat, deep, female voice of the computer.  
"Och," Jeffery grimaced.  
The three officers (and one Matrian) watched in a combination of amazement and horror as the cloud of bots suddenly launched themselves at the helpless starship. They could see clearly as the nearest bot, right at the very front tip of the saucer, extended its sensor and camera arms, carefully scanning a single hull plate and adding it to the reconstruction database. Jeffery winced as it extended cutting arms and with crisp, mechanical precision sliced the plate off the hull. It examined it briefly, tagged it, then allowed it to drift away. The scene was repeated hundreds of time across Silverado's skin, most of the plates being tagged and released. Some bots however, tucked their plates under a spare arm, to be taken later for re-fabrication. As each item was scanned it was added to the master display in 3CC. Small rectangles of hull plating were appearing on the empty ship diagrams; dorsal, ventral, port, starboard, fore and aft being displayed on wall panels while a slowly rotating holographic 3D display appeared over the central panel.  
"They are impressive," Sylvia said, watching with a look somewhere between admiration and...desire? If she could feel desire. For that matter, if she could feel desire towards what were, in Jeffery's mind, tiny parasites slowly carving apart her body. "It's sad that they can't understand just how much they're helping us,"  
"Helping us, aye," Jeffery said, unable to tear his eyes away from the mechanical carnage unfolding, "But ye know that intelligent machines are a slippery slope. Besides, they're built to work, not to be happy,"  
"Hmmm," Fifebee mumbled thoughtfully, "But is happiness not a universal desire?"  
"If it was, nobody would agree to spend their lives working on a ship in cold vacuum," Jeffery said.  
"Oh, I don't know," Sylvia replied, "I love a mindless, repetitive task as much as the next computer. But a bit of appreciation really does go a long way,"  
"Fascinating, but we have work to do," Major Dekaire waved several of the other Matrians forward, "Let us begin our education on Federation shipbuilding. Mr. Asbet is one of the construction managers at Shipyard Alpha, in orbit of Matria Prime. He wishes to know why Starfleet uses this strange 'Aztec' style hull pattern, I believe you call it,"  
"Um..." Jeffery gulped.

After a full day spent answering (or making up answers to) questions inane as 'Why even BOTHER painting differing hull plates different shades of grey' and 'Do you use a clear coat or simply wax?', Jeffery and his staff managed to escape to their quarters in the living spaces near Shipyard 3. Some of the senior officers and married couples had been given leases on condos in the city itself as a sort of thank you' from the Matrian government, but most of the crew had opted to live Spaceside, their quarters looking out into, well, space. Jeffery didn't even glance at the starry vista outside his huge, oval-shaped window as he collapsed on his couch and fell asleep.  
After a deep sleep, he suddenly shot awake, looking around in panic.  
Everything seemed fine, and yet something had jolted him awake. His quarters were empty, the stars outside shone silently in the black of space and the rumble of engines was sending only the gentlest vibrations through...wait. Engines?  
"BOLLOCKS!" Jeffery shouted. He dashed for the door, still in his day-old uniform. Why the hell was he feeling ENGINES? The only time he'd felt that aboard Haven was when the city had launched itself from the surface! They couldn't go anywhere in a sub-light object the size of the city...was some idiot trying to land the damned thing? And what the heck would happen to Silverado if they did?

"-better be a damned good reason for this!" Major Dekaire was shouting through the comm as Jeffery rushed into the 3CC, "We've left a trail of ship parts and construction bots all the way back to Matria Prime!"  
She turned to Jeffery and was speaking, but he wasn't paying attention. His eyes were locked at the window.  
Silverado looked like a rotted carcass. Nearly a quarter of ships skin had been peeled away, revealing structural spars, SIF and IDF conduits, shield waveguides, power lines and inner hull bulkheads. One warp nacelle had been opened up, with warp coils and other equipment fully visible. Bots were still climbing over the ship, scanning, cutting and sorting. But instead of spinning around slowly in the weightless shipyard, all the discarded hull plates had crashed to the shipyard floor, decks below.  
"Whot..."  
"I said," Dekaire said crossly, "The new Starfleet crew decided to fire up the engines and take us for a trip without bothering to inform us! The tractor field kept the ship in place, but anything outside the main inertial dampening field was scattered!"  
Silverado was too big to fit completely inside the shipyard. In fact, only the front half was actually 'inside' the shipyard. The rest of the ship just sort of stuck out the side of Haven, with massive scaffolds having extended out from the shipyard for just such a situation.  
"We've extended the IDF and SIF fields around the scaffolding, and the bots that fell out when the city accelerated are collecting everything for pickup. But this is going to set us back at least a week!"  
"Why-"  
There was a bizarre twisting sensation, followed by a roar like a train racing down a tunnel! Outside the shipyard entrance, Jeffery saw a waterfall of blue and black light washing down, as though energy was raining down on the city from above! He wasn't sure how light could be black, but there it was right in front of him.  
"DIVERT POWER TO THE TRACTOR FIELD!" Dekaire was screaming.  
Matrian technicians leaped to obey before Jeffery even realized the problem.  
"Bugger me!"he shouted. The aft ends of Silverado twin nacelles were IN the swirling energy field! The aft end of the ship was tilting down, while the upper surface of the saucer was on a crash course with the shipyard ceiling!  
As abruptly as it appeared, the roaring energy wave vanished. "Watch it!" Dekaire shouted, the technicians frantically adjusting the beams so the ship wouldn't abruptly reverse direction and bounce off the shipyard floor.  
After a moment of frenzied adjustments, Silverado again hung serenely in the center of the shipyard. The bots had continued their relentless task without pause, scanning, cutting, sorting and repeating. They didn't even seem to notice that dozens of them had nearly been crushed to death.  
"Whot the blue blazin' bollocks was that?" Jeffery wondered.  
"Whatever it was, I'm going up there and giving them a piece of my mind!" Dekaire snapped, moving towards the door.  
Jeffery caught her arm.  
"Don't bother," he said, "Just wait for the staff meeting,"  
"Don't bother?" Dekaire demanded, "STAFF MEETING?"  
"Major, Ah've been a starship engineer for a long time," At last, a topic he was confident about! "And two things never change: First, the guys on the bridge never tell us shite."  
Dekaire studied him carefully.  
"And second?"  
"Whoever the new captain is, he's gonna call a meeting to go over the whole thing in excruciating detail."  
As if on cue, the doors opened and a Starfleet Lieutenant emerged. He was a lanky, mostly human male with strange shapes shaved into his hair and more odd shapes drawn on his exposed skin. He was also looking about as nervous as Bigfoot in a room of Klingon prickle-mice.  
"No!" Jeffery exclaimed, his jaw dropping, the weirdness of the last five minutes forgotten.  
"H-H-Hi Simon!" Lieutenant Josh Shurgroe waved, "Congratulations on the promotion,"  
"Thanks," Jeffery said, reaching out to shake Shurgroe's hand. Shurgroe jerked back, then accepted the handshake.  
"And who are you?" Dekaire asked, not bothering with any pleasantries.  
"I'm Lieutenant Josh Shurgrue, Director of Shipbuilding," he replied.  
"Yer posted here?" Jeffery's jaw dropped again, "And...wait...yer in charge of the shipyards? Yer her BOSS?" he gestured at Dekaire, who was not looking amused.  
"Yeah, most of the Stallion's crew is here. And I guess I am." Shurgroe shrugged, "Anyway, the Captain sent me down here to...you know...assure you that we had to move the city for a reason, trying to rescue a quantum slipstream ship, and that we'll...you know...help with the cleanup and whatever. Oh, and I think she's having a meeting in an hour or so,"  
Jeffery's face flashed with understanding when slipstream was mentioned, and was starting to look smugly in Dekaire's direction when Shurgroe's words sunk in.  
"Wait...so the Captain...the new station commander..."  
"Is Captain Simplot," Shurgroe nodded, "She's very excited,"  
"Bugger me" Jeffery groaned again.  
"She might, if you ask her," Shurgroe shrugged again, "I mean, you two have already-"  
"Git out of here!" Jeffery gestured him away, "What we did was none of yer business!"  
Shurgroe looked from Jeffery's angry expression to the stone-cold look on Major Dekaire's face.  
"I'll...see you at the meeting," Shurgroe muttered as he left.  
Dekaire looked to Jeffery.  
"You know him? And slept with the new captain? The new female captain?"  
"Er..." Jeffery hesitated.  
"Good," Dekaire nodded curtly, "I wasn't sure if you were gay, or just a typical Federation male. It's so hard to tell the different. Dinner later?"  
"Um...whot?"  
Dekaire turned to one of the other Matrians in the room.  
"That Shurgroe man doesn't step foot in this shipyard or any of the support facilities without my personal authorization," she said firmly.  
"Yes, Major,"  
"He's not that bad..." Jeffery started.  
"Weren't you Silverado people, whom I might add have fought with us since the beginning, ordered to stay out of the way of this new crew that just barely stepped in at the last minute?" Dekaire asked.  
"Well...they did sacrifice their ship..."  
"They don't need to be in here," Dekaire said, "Now, dinner."  
"Did I saw yes?" Jeffery almost asked. The real question, he quickly realized, was whether he dared say no.

Day Two:

Fifebee and Sylvia stood in one of the smaller repair bays off the main shipyard. Silverado's two damaged runabouts had been moved into this bay, awaiting eventual repairs. Sylvia had slyly tapped into the bot allocation database and reassigned twelve construction bots to the runabouts.  
"OK," Sylvia said to the cold, emotionless eyes of the bots, "This will be a standard reconstruction, small scale. But we're going to try this a bit differently. You will get twelve hours of down time for every twelve hours of work. Your factory specs say you require re-lubrication every 10,000 hours, but I think we can cut that in half. Oh! And we have a variety of isotope flavours for your power cells! Try them all, and let me know what you think!"  
The bots said nothing.  
"Please begin," Sylvia said, gesturing to the runabout. After a moment, the bots walked to the first of the two small craft and began scanning it.  
"You're sure this is a good idea?" Fifebee asked.  
"What can go wrong?" Sylvia shrugged.

Stafford

"Darg, check the interior," Stern ordered, his weapon at the ready.  
"Guys, this isn't-" Stafford tried to say, but he was quickly cut off.  
"Sir, we are professionals," Lt Rengs said firmly, keeping him off to the side, "Just let us do our jobs,"  
"Professionals," Stafford rolled his eyes, "Right,"  
Dar'ugal pushed the door open with one foot, his phaser rifle immediately pointed into the small room. There was a scream, cut-off quickly as Simmons and Marsden darted into the room. They emerged with a pale Matrian man, his hands damp.  
"He's clean," Stern said after running a tricorder over the Matrian.  
"What is the meaning of-"  
"Sir, if you'll be on your way, and please note the sign at the entrance. This IS a secure facility,"  
"Hmph,"  
Dar'ugal made a series of hand gestures. Stern nodded.  
"The room is secure," he said, turning to Lt Comd T'Parief.  
"Excellent," T'Parief turned to Stafford and gestured at the door leading to the men's room, "You may now urinate in peace,"  
"Thanks," Stafford said dryly. He paused before the door shut,"You know, before you come up with these displays that demonstrate just how bored you are, try to remember that you insisted on coming along,"  
"I do not know what you are talking about, sir," T'Parief said flatly.

Stafford finished his business (admittedly enjoying the total privacy) and returned to the office he shared with Lt Yanick. It wasn't as large or as nice as the office he'd been given when he was the Minister of Planetary Defense. That office had been a huge, opulent affair, with a smaller office down off the War Room, several eager underlings and privileged access to much of the Matrian government complex Now that he was just a Special Adviser to the Matrian Council, both his workload and his level of privilege had declined somewhat. He and Yanick were now in a single large office. Rather than a constant stream of questions and small tasks, he had only occasional visits from council members wanting to discuss Federation stuff. Mostly Starfleet stuff that the actual Ambassador wasn't as familiar with.  
That free time, however, had been a mixed blessing.  
"Leave me alone," Jall had finally snapped, after Stafford had commed him four times in one day to 'understand the details' (read: micromanage) of Jall's efforts at studying a Qu'Eh ship, "You're doing that thing you hate. Just sit back and let me work. I'll let you know when we have something,"  
He'd been about to comm Jeffery when Yanick had slapped a hand on his wrist, holding his arm on his desk and preventing him from tapping his comm-badge.  
"Don't," she said.  
"But-"  
"Jeffery is going to tell you the same thing Jall told you," Yanick said firmly, "You and I both know that Admiral Tunney told you to sit down here and not get involved. And what are you doing?" She looked at him like a parent looking down at a child that had misbehaved.  
"I'm getting involved again," he admitted sheepishly.  
"Right."  
The discussion had gone back and forth a bit, but Stafford had known he was beaten.  
"OK, Trish," he'd finally said, "I hereby order you to take whatever actions necessary to keep me from micro-managing or otherwise sticking my nose in other people's business."  
It hadn't been easy. He was avoiding Tunney's great big pile of paperwork as much as possible. He'd gone almost stir-crazy in the office. The office, which had seemed large and comfortable at first had shrunk down to something the size of a small closet. Finally, again following Yanick's advice, he'd done what any bored government official would do:  
He started taking long lunches.  
So barely a few days after his arrival here he was, sitting at a nice outdoor cafe, eating something green and spongy and trying not to think about what his people were up to. Or what the Matrian food was doing to his entrails. Or the fact that Captain Simplot and her people were supposed to have taken over Haven a few days ago. Or the fact that Lt Comd Stern and the Hazardous Team were using his lunch as an excuse to practice covert surveillance.  
"You're not fooling anybody," Stafford said to Ensign Simmons. The explosives expert was disguised as a large plant. In a woodland setting, it might have worked. In the middle of the city, not so much.  
"How else am I going to learn, sir?" Simmons asked.  
"In some way that doesn't make the serving staff look at me like I'm crazy," Stafford grumbled.  
"Well sir, you ARE talking to a plant,"  
Stafford gritted his teeth and ignored the man. He also tried not to notice Dar'ugal, who was pretending to shop for hats at a nearby store. It might have been convincing, save for his lack of head.  
"Heya Chris!" Yanick strolled pleasantly up to his table. T'Parief followed a short distance behind, their egg carefully cradled in one arm.  
"Is that thing ever going to hatch?" Stafford asked.  
"Noel says it could be anywhere from two to six weeks," Yanick shrugged, "And that was two weeks ago. So...yes?"  
"Typical delivery window," Stafford muttered.  
"Do you want to hold it?" A look of complete terror crossed Stafford's face.  
"For the love of God, NO!" he gulped.  
Yanick looked hurt.  
"I'm just scared I'd...break it," Stafford clarified, "And then the father would break me,"  
"Oh," Yanick nodded thoughtfully, "I guess that's why people keep turning pale and running away when I ask,"  
T'Parief bared his teeth and made an amused sound.  
"Some people enjoy the strangest things," Stafford shook his head.  
"Anyway," Yanick sat across from him and pulled a padd out of her bag, "Do you-"  
"Will more of your party be seating themselves soon, sir?" a rather snooty Matrian waiter asked.  
"They're not part of any party!" Stafford growled, not seeing Simmons raising his arms over his head in the universal 'raise the roof' motion and quietly whooping, "They're just a bunch of crazy security people. Don't you ever get those around here?"  
"We get crazies of all types, sir," the waiter replied snidely.  
"Keep that up and your tip is toast," Stafford warned. The waiter left.  
"You tip?" Yanick asked.  
"The Matrian government does, when they're paying for my food," Stafford shrugged, "So what's up?"  
"Good news or bad news first?"  
"F**k, I hate it when you do this," Stafford rubbed his forehead, "Ummm...good news,"  
"OK," Yanick nodded, "The good news is that the Matrian Defence Force found Haven. I guess it got...um, let's see...it got pulled into an unstable quantum slipstream. It's about a week from here."  
Stafford stared at her blankly.  
"So then the bad news..." he said.  
"Is that Haven went missing, yes," Yanick nodded.  
"Less than a day!" Stafford exclaimed, "Captain Simplot was in command of that place for less than a day and she's already managed to...to...what was a quantum slipstream doing so close to the planet?"  
"Oh, it wasn't," Yanick assured him, "It was a ways away. They flew the city out to meet it,"  
"They...they..." Stafford bolted to his feet, "I'm going up there! Call the spaceport and-"  
"Don't make me stop you, Chris," Yanick warned him, "We agreed-"  
"We worked too hard to find and launch that city for somebody to take it joyriding around the solar system! I can't just-"  
Yanick whistled.  
In a flash, something dropped from the ceiling. Stafford was forced to the ground by a heavy weight, and the next thing he knew said heavy weight was seated comfortably on his back.  
"In the empire," Crewman Kreklor said conversationally, "you would be dead now,"  
"And in most of Starfleet you'd be on report now," Stafford grumbled. Something about having over two hundred pounds of Klingon sitting on his back had just taken the fight right out of him. "Yanick, when I said 'if I try to go to Haven, sit on me until the urge passes', I wasn't being literal."  
"Do you still feel like running up to Haven to meddle in Captain Simplot's business?" Yanick asked him.  
"Well...no," Stafford admitted, "Mostly, I just feel like breathing again. Soon."  
"Well, there you go,"  
This time when the snooty waiter came by he was accompanied by an even snootier-looking manager.  
"Uh-oh," Simmons said, "fun's over,"  
Stafford's comm-badge beeped.  
"Verethi to Stafford,"  
"Ohh crud," Stafford groaned. Admiral Verethi was in command of the Matrian Defence Force. If she was calling him, it couldn't be good.  
"Yeah," he asked, squirming to reach his comm-badge and wishing Kreklor would just get off him already.  
"We have a comm-call with the Queen in an hour," Verethi said without preamble, "She has some concerns over the Starfleet officers commanding Haven,"  
"Don't we all," Stafford muttered. Louder, "Fine, talk to you in an hour."  
Finally escaping from the heavy Klingon, Stafford got to his feet just in time for his badge to go off again.  
"Adviser Stafford, this is Matrian Communications, you have an incoming message from an Admiral Tunney, Starbase 45,"  
"Oh boy," Stafford stretched his back and waved for the snooty manager to wait a moment, "I'll be back in my office soon, patch it through there. Stafford out,"  
"Sir," the manager said, "I'm afraid-"  
"Matrian Communications to Adviser Stafford," his badge went off again.  
"I said I'll talk to Tunney in my office," Stafford snapped.  
"Sir, we have the office of a Fleet Admiral Ra'al online. They wish to schedule a call for this afternoon,"  
Now Stafford was a bit pale.  
"Did they say why?" he squeaked.  
"No,"  
"1400, Adviser Stafford's office," Yanick jumped in, before poking his comm-badge and closing the channel.  
"Vacation is over," Stafford sighed. He gestured and his unfinished plate. "Could you box that to go? Thanks,"  
He walked past the two employees.  
"Charge it to Queen Anselia," he called over his shoulder.

End

Next: Wowryk is starting to find that life in Matronus isn't all it's cracked up to be. But hey, don't worry! A night on the town, flaming bottles of flammable beverages and an imminent baby are more than enough to keep her mind off her troubles. Er...her other troubles. 


	4. 3 - Star of the Show

6.3 - 'Star of the Show'

Day Two:

Doctor Noel Wowryk checked her disguise, making sure that the heavy sunglasses, head scarf and false nose were in place. Finding everything to be in order, she stepped out of the small house that had been given over to her use. It was a clear, sunny day on Matria Prime. She couldn't really call it a summer, spring or fall day. Matria Prime had very little axial tilt and a very regular orbit, rendering the planet without seasons. The weather varied in terms of sunny, cloudy, rainy and not rainy...but that was really it. No summer. No winter. Just a sort of constant, warm autumn.  
"And yet they beat us at hockey" Wowryk muttered to herself.  
She left her temporary yard and started walking towards the nearest tram station. From there, she would take a tram from the suburb where her house was located down towards the center of the city, and from there it was a short walk to the research center where she was working.  
She had to admit, it felt good to be living on a planet again. Four years on Silverado, months living underground with the Matrian Resistance and then staying aboard Haven had made her forget just how wonderful it was to step out her front door and find herself faced with a glorious blue sky. She stopped at the small park she had found halfway between her house and the tram station and stopped briefly to pray and give thanks.  
An hour later, she resumed her walk to the tram.  
The tram was just pulling up when she arrived; she quickly seated herself and took a quick glance around. Nobody seemed to be taking notice of her. This was good.  
Her first day at work she'd stepped off the tram downtown and found herself surrounded by a veritable mob of paparazzi and fans. Matrian women were shouting their approval and appreciation while Matrian men were all but bowing and scraping at her feet. It was bad enough when she, when all the Silverado crew, had returned to Matrian Prime before the Qu'Eh invasion. They'd been the people who had rescued the Matrians from mind control, from a tyrannical dictator, and from a course that would have seen them trying to enslave their part of the galaxy. And it had been her, personally, who had stood up in front of their council and pushed for gender equality. She'd been famous. That was before the Qu'Eh. Now she was Noel Wowryk, the leader of the Matrian Resistance, the woman who had single-handedly outsmarted the Qu'Eh chairman and chased his people out of Matrian space. She'd also cured cancer, reversed global warming and managed to save all the cute, fuzzy animals who had ever been the slightest bit mistreated across the entire breadth of time and space!  
Well, OK, maybe that was exaggerating a bit.  
In any case, after that massive mob, she'd had to go out in disguise.  
Obsession with celebrity. Yet another way the Matrians were much like so many cultures on Earth. After all the races she'd seen during her time on Silverado, she was still stunned at how similar life could be.  
Or, on the other hand, how different. Just because an alien looked like you, walked like you, and (thanks to Universal Translators) talked like you, it didn't mean they were anything like you. Wowryk was reminded of a commentary in a history book she'd read discussing the cultures of North America. Mexico to the south had been quite different, being settled by the Spanish, but both Canada to the north and the United States of America in the center had been settled by the English, French, and a variety of European settlers. The result was that by the end of the 20th Century, crossing the border between the two countries really didn't feel...well, like crossing a border. The majority of people were still the same Caucasian race, everybody drove the same vehicles on the same side of the road, everybody spoke the same language, shopped at many of the same stores, ate mostly the same food and enjoyed the same entertainment. Currency was still dollars, no matter the colour change in the bills, and even the change between using miles vs kilometres didn't feel so strange. (Not like crossing from English Canada into Quebec, where absolutely everything was suddenly French and ready to drink, party and protest.)  
But, and this was the part that really stood out to Wowryk, it was the smaller thing, things you didn't see right away, that really set things apart. Things that could remain unnoticed for days, weeks or even months, then WHAM! They were there, they were in your face and you couldn't un-see them, no matter how hard you tried. Things like the blatant racism in the US that caught their Canadian neighbors completely off-guard. Treatment of homosexuals, universally given the same marriage rights as everybody else in Canada, but subject to a patchwork of partial rights in the States. Or universal health care, which to Canadians was an everyday way of life, but had polarized nearly a generation of American politicians. And the reverse, possession of weapons, which was almost universal permitted in America but tightly controlled in Canada.  
As Wowryk looked around the tram and noticed nearly a dozen pregnant women standing firmly, hands casually gripping the railings while their slimmer, smaller males sat in the seats, she had to bite her lip to hold back a chuckle. It had taken days for her to notice the high pregnancy rate, but the Matrians were recovering from generations of war after all. And despite their reversed positions, Wowryk couldn't help but think that if Stafford, Jeffery or T'Parief were capable of getting pregnant, they too would be too stubborn and too jealous of their precious image as the stronger gender to actually sit down and take a load off.  
Little differences. Cultural differences. Like that weird thing about meat. The Matrians, God knew why, believed that displaying any kind of raw meat to the public was obscene. It was interesting...but it made shopping for groceries somewhat more difficult.  
Wowryk got off at her stop and climbed the steps to street level and nearly tripped on a hoard of small but fiesty street cleaning robots.  
"Apologies, madam," one of the bots said in a grating, artificial voice as it picked up a discarded disposable cup, "There was a larger than expected celebration last night."  
"I see. Thank you," Wowryk replied without thinking, continuing on her way. It had been weeks since the Qu'Eh had been defeated, but some of the Matrians were still celebrating. It wasn't unusual to see a restaurant, a park, or even one of the 'encouraged dating' dance halls taken over for a bash. And, apparently, getting somebody else to clean up the mess.  
That was another thing that was really starting to stand out with the Matrians: They had a lot of robots. From the mechanized army that staffed Haven's shipyards to the street cleaners and window washers, there were thousands of them. And yet the Matrians didn't seem willing to allow any but the smallest of robots on the surface of the planet. Nothing big enough to repair a building or build a road, but certainly something that could keep the streets clean. Why that was, she had no idea. Maybe because bringing Matrian-sized bots onto the planet would impact the job market?  
Or, she realized with a shudder, several years ago it would have impacted the slave market, leaving the brainwashed males with no 'penance' to pay.  
She contained the walk to the research centre, realizing that the party must have been a lot bigger than she originally thought. Banners still festooned the street, which she now realized had been entirely closed to vehicular traffic.  
Even more unexpected was the empty research center she found on her arrival.  
"Didn't you hear, madam?" the security guard seated at the reception desk asked, "They called a day off. For the 'Hey Ain't Life Grand' festival last night. Nobody's in. I mean, if you have clearance I can let you upstairs, if you really want to work. But nobody else is in,"  
"I...see..." Wowryk said slowly.  
"Hey, you don't look like you're even tired!" the guard, a young male was saying, "Unless you're just hiding it behind those glasses. Me, if I'd been up half the night, I'd look like a train wreck,"  
"I didn't go..." Wowryk admitted.  
"What?" the guard looked like she'd just announced that the Qu'Eh were on their way back, "But...it was the biggest bash of the month! They had fire-striders! And water-jugglers! And," he lowered his voice conspiratorially, "I hear one of the Silverado officers was there! The tanned male, the one that never seems to stop dancing,"  
"That would be Jall," Wowryk rolled her eyes.  
"Yeah, that's him," the guard nodded, "You follow the Silverados?"  
"Ah, I'm familiar with them," Wowryk was starting to feel a bit guilty about her hidden identity. This sort of deception was not the action of a proper, Catholic girl!  
"The tanned one...Jall? He's always out partying somewhere. And the Captain...can you believe that? A man, in command of a whole ship? And now working for our government! The blond one, the green reptile, and ohhhhhhh...Doctor Wowryk! Of course, nobody sees Dr. Wowryk anymore. Nobody knows why. But she doesn't go out...there were rumours she was in Matronous a couple days ago, but I bet she's still up in Haven, hiding from us for some reason,"  
"Are you new here or something?" Wowryk demanded.  
"Well, yeah. Why?"  
"I've been working here all week," Wowryk took her sunglasses off and put her hands on her hips, annoyed, "And why would you say I was hiding?"  
The guard had straightened up rigidly in his chair, his face white and his eyes as round as saucers. He didn't answer Wowryk's question.  
"Well?" she prompted, arms crossed over her chest.  
"Um...Um..." he looked around, his eyes settling on the vid-screen for his work terminal.  
Wowryk put her hands on her hips, her eyes drilling into his.  
He tapped a couple buttons, then a pair of cheerful men appeared on the screen. Wowryk recognized them as Bots and Trax, hosts of a popular morning talk show.  
After a bit of fiddling, the guard let the file play.  
"-many invitations does that make now?" Bots was asking.  
"As of last tally?" Trax shook his head, his expression one of carefully arranged regret, "Two hundred and fifty three VIP invitations that she's declined or ignored. And that includes the Queen's Gala on Quatrios Island."  
"I guess that makes Dr. Wowryk the official 'Party Pooper of the Month!'," Bots said.  
"She may be a hero," Trax agreed, "but she sure doesn't know how to have a good time,"  
"I'm-" the guard looked back towards the foyer, only to see the door slip shut as Wowryk stormed out of the building.  
"...sorry." he finished.

Why had he shown her that, Wowryk asked herself. Why had that ignorant guard subjected her to something so...so...hurtful?  
She'd put her glasses back on and was moving in no specific direction other than AWAY. Away from that street, the scene of last night's party that had apparently been so fantastically wonderful that nobody on the planet could understand why she wouldn't want to go.  
The city that had seemed so comfortable and welcoming earlier that morning now felt distinctively hostile. Even though she was completely anonymous, she somehow felt eyes on her...watching her, judging her, wondering why it was that she didn't want to join in on their fun and games.  
Maybe what she needed was a break from the city.

A few hours later, Wowryk was in a small Matrian runabout dropping out of warp and approaching the city of Haven. The city was slowly making its way back to Matria Prime at full impulse and would be there in less than a week, but travel was still easily accomplished by runabout. After docking the craft, she made her way to Shipyard Three and settled into the still-under-construction restaurant for a coffee with Sylvia and Fifebee.  
"You will NOT pollute the peace of a Guinanco establishment with your...your...MESQUITE!" Patsy Horton was declaring shrilly, her wide-brimmed hat bouncing as she spoke.  
"I damned well WILL!" Steven Steiger, Silverado's bartender and resident anti-Guinanco protestor snarled back, "We're going with a steakhouse theme and that's THAT!"  
"How disturbingly North-American," Horton declared in her crisp, British tones, "I forbid it!"  
"Too bad! It was decided weeks ago!"  
"Somehow, this isn't relaxing me," Wowryk grumbled.  
"Yes, those two have been clawing at each other since we were kicked off the ship," Fifebee said.  
"It's a lovely night in the city though," Sylvia said, "Perfect for walking down by the lake,"  
As they turned to leave, Steven called to Wowryk.  
"What do you think, Doc?" he asked, "Casual steakhouse, or uptight formal dining?"  
"Don't answer that!" Horton snapped, "Not until you've had a chance to view my full counter-proposal!"  
"Come, dear," Sylvia rushed her out the door.

Soon they were walking under the starry dome.  
"...had a very unpleasant experience today," Wowryk was saying. "You were watching Trax and Bots, weren't you," Sylvia said knowingly, "Oh, Noel, morning talk shows never had anything nice to say about anybody,"  
"I guess not," Wowryk sighed, "It's just...I was feeling so comfortable in Matronus. And now..."  
Sylvia folded her hands and looked at her.  
"You felt accepted," she said gently, "Oh sweetie, I know that Chris and Simon and Trish all love you, but you they DO give you a hard time sometimes. The Matrians fall over themselves for you, and as much as you hate the attention, you love that they love you for who you are and what you've done for them. And now..."  
"I didn't come up here to be psycho-analyzed," Wowryk lifted an eyebrow.  
"Yes you did," Fifebee cut in, "That is exactly why you came to see us. Because you do not want to look vulnerable to the Captain or Jall, and Yanick is too busy with her egg to give anybody any attention. So you can either listen to Sylvia, wait for me to call up Dr. Crane on my personality database, or we can call in Yvonnokoff."  
Wowryk thought for a moment, then turned back to Sylvia.  
"Called it," Fifebee muttered.  
"Would it really hurt to go out a bit?" Sylvia asked her, "Even if you just make an appearance. Show up, let the Matrians know that you're willing to celebrate with them as well as fight with them, then go home in time for a good prayer and a good nights sleep,"  
"Or use it as an opportunity to work out some of your sexual issues," Fifebee said brightly, "I recommend Ensign Grant,"  
Wowryk actually smiled at that.  
"The funny thing is," she mused, "The Matrian men are probably the safest men in the galaxy for women to be around. Aside from Jall's type, I guess."  
"So you'll do it?"  
Wowryk rose to her feet.  
"Damned right I'm going to do it," she said her eyes starting to take on the fiery glow of conviction that had sent the Qu'Eh packing, "I've worked hard, fought hard and helped shape this civilization. I'm going to out and have a good time! And I'm going to be the most dignified party-goer this place has ever seen!"  
She started marching towards the tram. As she did, something caught her eye. She turned just in time to catch a glimpse of...what the?  
"Did either of you just see a Matrian in a loincloth riding a unicycle?" she demanded.  
"Why would there be one of those on Haven?" Sylvia asked innocently.  
"Good point," Wowryk shrugged.

Day Three:

Stafford didn't know how the hell he'd thought this job was boring. Was it barely 24 hours ago that he'd resigned himself to taking long lunches to kill time? No, actually. It had been 28. Or 26. Or however long the Matrian day was.  
The remainder of the day had been consumed with meetings and calls. First was Admiral Verethi, demanding to know what Starfleet thought it was doing, hijacking vital Matrian military assets and getting them thrown millions of kilometers away. Next was Abela, demanding the replacement of the Stallion officers that had been sent to take over Haven. Or, apparently Starbase 341, as it was now known. Stafford had cringed at the name. If only somebody had asked him! He, the Special Adviser to the Matrian Council, would have told them immediately to reject ANY designation ending in 41! The Matrians couldn't know it, since their word for 'for' had no resemblance whatsoever to the Matrian word for the number four. But enough races were intelligent enough to figure the problem out, leaving those joking assholes at Asset Tracking to push the 41 numbers on any race dumb enough to accept them.  
It was only Tunney's stinging admonition to stay out of other people's business that stopped him from agreeing with Abela and pushing Anselia to put his own people in charge of Haven. He actually liked Colonel Abela. The woman had...well, she had balls. She'd discovered (far too late) that elements of her own government had orchestrated the mass murder that had started the Gender Wars, had dedicated her life to hiding Haven and the considerable military, political and intelligence processing power it contained, had watched the downfall of her civilization over the centuries, transferred her mind to a clone body using the same body-swapping glitch in the Matrian SIDs that his own people had fallen victim to and finally, centuries later, had seen her people peacefully reconciled. And now she was second-in-command under Captain Simplot. A woman who, according to Jeffery, had slept with half her crew and diverted her ship nearly a light-year to take advantage of a 'really good sale'.  
Still, he'd managed to control himself, to recommend they give Simplot more time to adjust and that his people needed to focus on their own tasks. He'd finally leaned back in his chair, ready to head home for the day, when Fleet Admiral Ra'al's office commed. Apparently for the third time, as his line had been busy for his other comm calls.  
So after first enduring a scorn-filled blast on keeping her waiting, Fleet Admiral Ra'al managed to make it perfectly clear that in her mind, the incident with Haven was his fault, Abela and Verethi's concerns over the Stallion officers were his fault, the missing USS Roadrunner was his fault, and the fact that he wasn't aware there WAS a ship named the Roadrunner, never mind that it was missing, was not only his fault but a substantial personal failing on his part.  
She didn't seem to want much other than to point out his various mistakes, failures and personal flaws. After about half an hour of ranting, she cut the channel.  
Stafford was again just getting ready to leave when Admiral Tunney commed. Stafford braced himself for another blast of shit, but Tunney had simply transmitted a list of forms and paperwork that still had to be filled out regarding the Silverado rebuild and was now officially late.  
"But we already removed all the classified stuff!" Stafford objected, "Well, that, or confirmed that it had been so blown to hell by the Qu'Eh and Jall's little sabotage bit that nobody could get anything out of it!"  
"That's great," Tunney had said, "But did you track the serial numbers and submit them to Starfleet Inventory? Did you complete the follow-up reports required by the waivers necessary to allow Matrian personnel to conduct the rebuild?"  
"But it was all authorized!" Stafford almost whined, "We've been through waivers, and authorizations to operate, and clearances, and all of that!"  
"Sure," now Tunney's look turned almost smug, "It was. After a planetary leader pulled some strings that, frankly, she shouldn't have even known existed. But even with authorization, the appropriate paperwork still has to be filed. Correctly. And errors aside, you've barely scratched the surface of what needs to be done,"  
He tapped a button and a dizzying array of form numbers and titles flew across Stafford's screen.  
"Enjoy. Tunney out."  
Now, a day later, Stafford had barely slogged through three of the nearly six hundred different forms that needed to be filed. He'd stayed late, then caught an auto-cab to the comfortable apartment that had been set aside for him while he was planet-side. He would have liked to have beamed up to his condo in Haven, on loan from Anselia, but Haven was still way, way out of transporter range. He'd overslept and found himself coming in nearly an hour late to find Yanick setting up some sort of half cradle, half incubator in one corner of the office they shared. T'Parief was sitting next to the contraption with their egg, further reducing the space in the small office.  
He tapped away at his computer for about ten minutes before deciding he needed coffee. Badly. And, as luck would have it, the upscale coffee shop in the government complex had starting stocking Terran blends. Replicated for now, but the owner had assured Stafford that he had a shipment of beans as well as the growing stock to start his own line of real Terran coffee.  
When Stafford stepped into the hallway to walk over to the shop, Lt Rengs, Ensign Simmons, Lt Marsden and Lt Comd Stern had immediately fallen into a diamond formation around him. They were all wearing black Terran suits, dark sunglasses and had small earpieces in one ear. Further ahead he could see Dar'ugal and Kreklor scouting ahead in the crowd wearing Matrian clothing but utterly failing to fit in.  
Aware of the strange looks he was receiving from all directions, Stafford decided that enough was enough.  
He needed to get his ship back. Soon.

Day Six:

Lt Comd Riven Valtaic carefully pondered the Qu'Eh circuit that was sitting in pieces on his workbench. The circuit had come from the Qu'Eh cruiser Synergistic Alignment, one of the big so-called 'flying clipboards' that made up the backbone of the Qu'Eh fleet. When the Qu'Eh had left Matrian Space they'd taken their troops and most of their damaged ships with them. The Synergistic Alignment had been too badly damaged to make the trip under its own power. With their other ships already towing damaged vessels, it had been abandoned in Matrian space.  
The doors hissed open and Valtaic looked up, expecting to see Comd Jall step through. The half-Trill officer was already late for duty. Instead, Dr. Noel Wowryk stepped in.  
Valtaic gave a curt nod to acknowledge her presence, then returned to work.  
Wowryk said nothing for a moment. A moment stretched into two minutes.  
By five minutes, she was visibly uncomfortable.  
With an inward sigh, Valtaic set down his tools and resigned himself to pointless social interaction.  
"May I help you, doctor?" he asked.  
Wowryk shrugged.  
"I was looking for Commander Jall," she admitted.  
Valtaic felt his expression turn to one of disapproval.  
"I wanted to talk to him about the medical facilities on the Qu'Eh ship," she said, her tone becoming a bit defensive, "I want to study their implantation and de-implantation technology. The research center has the collars, but not the devices used to attach or remove them,"  
Valtaic considered this.  
"I concur," he said, returning to his work, "When Commander Jall arrives, we will be beaming up to the ship to retrieve further samples from their computer core. You are welcome to accompany us."  
"Thank you," Wowryk nodded.  
There was silence again as Valtaic poked and prodded the circuits laid out in from of him.  
"So, how are you doing?" Wowryk asked.  
Valtaic gave her an annoyed look.  
"I'm still your medical officer," Wowryk reminded him.  
Nodding in understanding, Valtaic set down his tools.  
"For the most part, my well-being has not been affected by this planet," he said, "The availability of fresh food compared to replicated fare is most welcome, however I am still unable to shake the bowel problems that have plagued me since our arrival. In fact, as the CMO, may I suggest that you consider analyzing the level of fibre and possible intestinal irritants that may affect Lithinarian biology. I assure you, either a dietary supplement or similar medication to address the issue would be appreciated not only by myself, but by those who share the same restroom facilities as I."  
Neither of them had noticed Jall walk in halfway through the conversation.  
"Wow, that's what that was?" he asked, "I thought somebody had literally died in there,"  
Both Wowry and Valtaic gave him identical looks of irritation. Wowryk's, however, shifted immediately to concern.  
"What on Earth happened to you?" she demanded. Jall's eyes were bloodshot, dark bags hung under them as well. His hair was half-flattened and he didn't exactly smell clean.  
"Look, Doc," he said, "I'm sort of starting to like you. So I'm not going to answer that, other than to say I'm possibly still drunk and that the body odour you're smelling probably isn't mine,"  
Wowryk's look of concern turned to disgust.  
"Valtaic, I'll be a bit late. Just popped in on my way to my hotel. I still need a shower and about two gallons of coffee,"  
Valtaic nodded.  
"You wanna come up to the ship with us later, doc?" Jall asked, "You can even bring your holy water and do some consecrating if you like,"  
Despite herself, Wowryk chuckled.  
"I'll have to use most of it on you, first," she said.  
"There's a wet and wild party at one of the parks next weekend," he said, "You bring the super-soaker of holy water, I'll bring the genuine Polish vodka, and between the two of us we'll show these Matrian girls how to party,"  
Wowryk was about to refuse, purely on reflex. But this was why she'd gone hunting for Jall, after all. Regardless of the excuse she'd given Valtaic.  
"It's a deal," she said.  
With a tired grin, Jall left.  
Valtaic was looking at her with a surprised expression.  
He opened his mouth.  
"Speak of that to anybody and I'll hold you underwater until your batteries are completely drained," she said pleasantly.  
He closed his mouth and resumed work on his circuits.

A few hours later, Jall, Wowryk and Valtaic materialized in the Qu'Eh ship. Wowryk and Valtaic had been down on the planet for the majority of the Qu'Eh occupation, but Jall has spent almost all of it aboard the wreckage of Silverado. As a result, he took far more satisfaction in coming aboard the similarly damaged Qu'Eh ship. He stepped off the barely functioning transporter pad (they'd relied on the working unit at Matronus Transporter Central) and took in a deep breath of air, tinged with the stale, acrid scent of damaged circuits.  
"The Matrians did a good number on this one," Jall said to Wowryk as they stepped into the brightly lit corridor. Like all Qu'Eh designs it was bland and uninteresting. Tan wall panels met a slightly darker tan floor and a slightly lighter tan ceiling. Boring, rectangular lighting strips ran along the ceiling. The walls met the floor at perfect 90-degree angles, making the hallway almost completely featureless. Dull, generic art hung on the walls. "The pictures are the same on each deck," Jall said to Wowryk as they walked along, gesturing at a piece of art depicting a majestic mountain. Words in the Qu'Eh script were written along the top, "I've seen this one in the same place on all twenty levels. Even in the engineering spaces!"  
"We have managed to restore main power," Valtaic added, "We hope to have warp drive and other primary systems restored in the next two weeks."  
"What will you do with it then?" Wowryk asked.  
"I imagine it will probably be taken back to Federation space for study," Jall shrugged.  
"This is Federations space, now,"  
"Well, someplace more secure," Jall rolled his eyes, "I mean, good thing we weren't using one of Haven's shipyards to work on this thing, or we'd be in the middle of nowhere by now,"  
"The city will be back in a few days," Wowryk seemed dismissive. Then, "Has there been any sign of that ship that went missing?"  
"Nope," Jall said, "I asked Stafford about it, but he said that Fleet Admiral Ra'al has ordered no rescue missions. I guess with that slipstream drive they had, they could be anywhere in the galaxy by now,"  
"Oh,"  
They'd reached the medical center. The doors hissed open and Wowryk stepped inside.  
And back out again.  
"I asked for Sickbay, not the coffee shop!" she complained.  
"That's Sickbay, all right," Jall said, pointing at his tricorder translation of the door sign.  
Wowryk stepped back in. It really did look like a coffee shop. A counter along the back wall had a series of menu boards behind it, and the equipment sure looked like it was intended for the preparation and dispensing of those disgusting, tepid drinks that the Qu'Eh preferred. The decor was still horribly bland, but a few browns and greys joined the tan seen in the corridor. Several small tables were scattered around.  
Finally, towards one side, she found a short hallway with two opposing doors. According to her tricorder the one on the left was labeled 'Employees', while the one on the right was labeled 'Managers'.  
"I don't think this is going to be pretty," she said, opening the employee door. It wasn't as bad as she'd feared. She'd been afraid that the 'employees' of the Qu'Eh, little more than slaves and often implanted with explosive collars to ensure 'continued employment' (obedience) would only merit the sort of medical care more suited to the Dark Ages. The facility she'd found was small, cramped and smelled unpleasantly like old-style antiseptic. But it was clean and the equipment was at least relatively modern, as opposed to scalpels, bone saws or forceps. She took a quick look around, but didn't find anything of particular interest.  
Up in the front, Jall had powered up one of the drink dispensers and was puttering away.  
"I wonder if this stuff is any better if it's actually heated up properly?" he wondered. There was a hissing, a beep, what sounded like sipping, then a curse.  
"Nope. Definitely not." Jall announced.  
Wowryk stepped into the Manager section. Here was something she recognized as a proper Sickbay! Several biobeds sat in private alcoves along one wall, while the other held diagnostic screens, storage space for medical instruments and the door to the head physician's office. She stepped in as though she owned the place, sat at the desk and started tapping at the computer. It immediately asked for a password.  
She stared, then lifted her voice.  
"Jall, do you have any of the...I don't know...whatever it is that you people use for hacking into computers? You do hack, right? I mean, of course you do. You're one of those technology people, after all,"  
Jall appeared in the door with a frosty cup in each hand.  
"This stuff actually isn't bad if you grind it up with ice. And add a LOOOOT of sugar," he said handing her one.  
"Jall, the computer?" Wowryk prompted.  
"Right. Do you know the Qu'Eh word for 'Password'?"  
Wowryk look a him.  
"Really?"  
He tapped a few buttons on the computer, which promptly unlocked.  
"Really."

Day Ten:

"This is amazing," Jeffery said, stepping into the runabout Assessippi. The small ship had been heavily damaged during the Qu'Eh invasion and Jeffery had actually considered just writing it off and asking Starfleet for a new one. But now...  
He ran his hand along the small tactical station located just forward of the transporter pad. The Assessippi was an older runabout and hadn't actually had one before. But the Matrian construction bots had followed the design specifications that Sylvia had given them down to the micrometer, and the new console was indistinguishable from one built in a Federation shipyard. He moved forward to the pilot seat and sat down.  
"Still has that creak in it from the incident with K'Eleese and Slezar," he said.  
"We could have them put in a new chair," Sylvia offered, her and Fifebee following behind Jeffery as he inspected the ship.  
"Nay," Jeffery shook his head, "It's good. It means it still has some personality,"  
He tapped at the panels for a few moments, running diagnostics and doing system checks.  
"Ah'm impressed," he finally admitted, "Ye were right to try this. Ah should have insisted on doing it me-self...dismantling and re-building a runabout before startin' on Silverado. But Ah guess Dekaire didn't want to hear it,"  
"Would you care to take it out for a test flight?" Fifebee asked, managing to sound just a bit smug,"  
"Aye, Ah would...but Ah have a meeting with Major Dekaire in half an hour." Jeffery sighed.  
Fifebee and Sylvia exchanged a look.  
"And will you be going for...dinner...afterward?" Sylvia asked carefully.  
"Aye," Jeffery replied. He didn't exactly look unhappy about it. But he didn't exactly look happy, either.  
"Simon..." Sylvia started.  
"Noel and I aren't datin' at the moment," Jeffery cut her off, "And Carly was...well, let's not even go there. But I'm free to date whoever I want, OK?"  
"Even if she's a co-worker?" Fifebee inquired.  
"Aye. Ah'm free to do whatever Ah want to do with her,"  
"Or rather, she's free to do whatever she likes with you," Sylvia suggested.  
"And whot do ye mean by that?"  
"Nothing," Sylvia said immediately, cursing herself for not conducting more detailed analysis prior to activating her speech subroutines.  
Jeffery looked at her for a moment.  
"Aye, that's right. Nothing."  
He stepped out of the runabout, followed by the two holographic women. Outside the small ship the six construction bots that had conducted the rebuild were standing in formation. Across the large workshop area six more bots were in the final stages of rebuilding the more heavily-damaged runabout Niagra. One bot was welding hull plates back into place along the upper surface of the port warp nacelle. Another was carrying the pilot seat back into the cockpit. Two more were working on a nearby workbench, rebuilding the starboard impulse engine assembly. The last bot was walking slowly around the runabout, its red eyes observing everything very carefully.  
Jeffery and Sylvia had both been working with groups of bots for weeks now, and they'd both leaned a great deal about the Matrian shipbuilding technology. One of the more interesting points that had come up was that anytime a group of bots worked on a project, one of them took on the a role referred to in their coding as the 'facilitator'. The facilitator bot seemed to be a combination of coordinator, manager, tasker and quality control. It was as close to leadership as the robots could really get, but even so the bots required a fair bit of input from an organic operator.  
"Good job," Jeffery said to Sylvia as he started walking towards the exit, "Ah wish ye'd come to me when ye started this, but Ah guess Ah can't argue with yer results. Do me a favour and upload the data from yer bots into the facilitators in Shipyard Three. Ah'm sure they've learned somethin' useful,"  
"I'm sure they have," Sylvia said, running ahead of Jeffery to block his path to the exit, "But Simon before you leave...isn't there something else you'd like to say?"  
"Ummm...no?"  
Sylvia gave him one of her looks that managed to convey annoyance, irritation, disapproval and affection all at once. It was, he mused, one piece of Mrs. Stafford that had stuck around right from the very beginning of her existence, no matter how much she'd managed to evolve into her own being.  
"Didn't we save you a fair bit of work, just by taking a bit of initiative?" Sylvia pressed, "Your runabouts will be finished tomorrow, and the shuttles will take less than a week. We've collected some great data for you, and managed to keep ourselves occupied and out of your hair while you endured countless meetings, conference calls and bureaucratic tangles."  
"Aye," Jeffery nodded, "And ye know I appreciate everything ye do."  
Sylvia smiled, and Jeffery knew that's what she was after.  
"Of course, we couldn't have done it without the bots we 'borrowed' from the shipyard," she added cheerfully.  
"Oh, aye," Jeffery chuckled, "Tell them Ah appreciate their hard work too,"  
With that, he left.  
"Did you hear that?" Sylvia said to the small group of bots standing next to the Assessippi, "He appreciates your hard work and the good job you've all done,"  
No response.  
Sylvia felt a small flash of frustration. The construction bots weren't fully sentient, she knew. They had fairly advanced AIs, as Matrian technology went. But nothing near herself or Fifebee. Not even close to the level of androids like the late Commander Data. They did have a sort of rudimentary intelligence in that they could accept and process input and use it to make decisions. But whether they actually possessed any level of self-awareness was a matter of some debate between Sylvia and Fifebee.  
Fifebee was convinced that the bots, while admittedly kindred spirits to the two artificial women, operated somewhere around the level of an insect colony. There was coordination, there was organization, and the more bots you added, the more complex tasks you could have completed in less time. But even though bees (or bee-like insects) could build complex hives, produce honey, and single-handedly fuel the agriculture of entire planets through pollination, they still possessed zero self-awareness.  
Sylvia disagreed. She thought the bots were more along the level of dogs, cats and other animals that, while perhaps not truly intelligent, were at least aware enough to feel pleasure, pain, attachment and perhaps even affection. Or lack thereof. She even suspected that the more bots you networked together, the greater their collective intelligence!  
Fifebee thought this was preposterous. Even networking Federation starships, far more complex devices than the relatively simple bots, didn't show any collective boost in AI.  
Sylvia countered that the communications protocols between the bots weren't the same as Federation computer-to-computer network protocols. And that the facilitator bots hinted at some ability to elevate particular units. Perhaps groups of bots operating with facilitators could be further controlled by one unit, creating a sort of overmind!  
Fifebee returned that Sylvia had been processing too many science fiction novels as well as poorly-written fan fiction.  
Sylvia replied that Fifebee had all the compassion of a robot.  
Fifebee's reply had been along the lines of 'Oh, like the unfeeling robots we are discussing'.  
Before they could end up in an infinite argument loop, the two of them agreed that only further experience with the bots would solve anything. And so Sylvia was frustrated when the five worker bots didn't appear to respond to the praise, they just continued staring ahead with their dull, red eyes. Fifebee again looked smug.  
This time Sylvia approached the facilitator.  
"You all did very good work," she said again, "You've made me very happy, and I appreciate it. Why don't you boys go relax for a few hours? Top up your power cells, process some repetitive computational tasks. You'll feel better, and be all fresh and ready for another day!"  
The bot seemed to contemplate Sylvia for a moment. Then as one they all turned and left.  
"Let's give Lt Pye a call and have him move this runabout to one of the hanger bays," Fifebee said, "We may end up needing it later,"  
"Hmmm," Sylvia nodded, still watching the bots as they left. She wasn't sure, but she thought two of the bots working on the Niagra were working just a bit faster than they had been before that little display of good will.  
Excellent!

Day Twelve:

Lieutenant Patricia Yanick awoke to a loud beeping noise.  
"Hatching drill!" T'Parief snapped, jumping out of bed and running to the small incubation unit in the far corner. Yanick, nearly knocked to the floor by the sudden movement of a mattress abruptly released from the burden of supporting the massive reptile, reached for her comm-badge and pantomimed pressing it. "I just called Noel. Next step is...uh...confirm the heart rate, right?"  
"Already on it," T'Parief said, his voice still in that clipped, 'security-speak' tone he usually reserved for reports on just how far down the shields were or whether some nasty alien was about to shoot at them. "Heart rate nominal,"  
He shot her a cold look.  
"You should be contacting the emergency medical services for a transporter," he said.  
"You know as well as I do that by the time we were beamed over to the transporter center, waited for somebody to fiddle with the settings, waited for the stupid, slow Matrian beam to recharge and finally beamed to the hospital, the egg would probably already be hatching!" She put her hands on her hips, directing just a bit of her heated willpower in an attempt to break through that reptilian coldness that always seemed to come over him when he was stressed.  
"We should just have Noel beam over and let the baby hatch here," she finished.  
"Here?" T'Parief looked in disdain at the quarters they were sharing, "This place is identical to every unit aboard Haven that you rejected."  
Shortly after the defeat of the Qu'Eh, Yanick had made it her mission to find the perfect place to have her first baby. After turning down luxurious condos with breathtaking views of Haven's inner city, the space outside the dome, even a rare underwater apartment that looked into the lake, T'Parief had finally found her the perfect place. It was a spacious, ground-level apartment in the Inner Rim with a small but grassy yard. It was, frankly, as close to Yanick Farms as she was going to get on a space station.  
Then the situation had changed: Haven was still days away unless they wanted to climb into a runabout and warp back and forth constantly. All the nearby farms were automated, and not really setup for habitation. (The Matrians were working on changing that.) So they were stuck with the first thing the Matrians had offered them in Matronus. Neither of them were pleased with it, and both had seriously considered telling Stafford just where he could go stuff his work assignments, even though T'Parief had himself insisted on accompanying Yanick down to the planet.  
But in the end, Wowryk was there, Stafford was there, Jall and Valtaic were there...heck, everybody but Jeffery, Sylvia and Fifebee had come down from Haven. And any arguments about whether they should live up there and commute to the planet had ended when the city was unexpected tossed across the solar system.  
The tricorder next to the egg let out an unpleasant BLAAATTT sound.  
"We have failed to respond to a drop in fetal blood oxygen levels," T'Parief said flatly, "Without a tri-ox injection, the fetus has already suffered irreversible brain damage."  
He turned off the tricorder and set it back on the table. Yanick grabbed it and hurled it at the nearest wall. She was disappointed when the device simply bounced off, landing on the bed instead of shattering into a million pieces.  
"We will have another drill tomorrow," T'Parief said, picking up the egg and giving it a gentle caress. Far gentler than the tone he'd been using with her lately. He set the egg back down.  
Yanick immediately moved to pick it up.  
"You're not going to throw that against the wall now, are you?" he asked calmly.  
Yanick whirled on him, her eyes blazing.  
"THIS. IS. OUR. CHILD." Giant lizard he may be, T'Parief was still pushed back a step by the halo of fury that suddenly surrounded his mate.  
"I don't want to HEAR about oxygen levels, hatching drills, or tri-box whatever!" she snapped. "The baby will be fine. WE will be fine! EVERYTHING WILL BE FINE!"  
She set the egg back in the incubator and moved to the bathroom.  
"I'm taking a shower," she announced, "I think you better go for a walk. And leave that," she pointed to the egg, "here. I'm taking it to the office again."  
She stormed into the bathroom.

T'Parief was still there when she finished, never having been particularly good at reading human female cues, even when they weren't exactly subtle.  
Yanick didn't pay him any attention, simply dressed, placed the egg in the protective exoskeleton and harness Jeffery had given her as a belated shower gift, then departed. T'Parief followed.  
"Stern to T'Parief," his comm-badge chirped, "The Captain just arrived in his office. We've got this great idea! See, we attach the cord of his kettle to a dummy grenade. Wait for it to go off, then storm the room! I swear to God, if he doesn't shit himself when the grenade goes off, he will when he's got half a dozen rifles pointed at him!"  
"Don't you dare!" Yanick snapped, "He's got enough trouble with all the work Ra'al and Tunney dumped on him!"  
T'Parief considered.  
"Attach the cord to his emergency panic button instead. But be sure to inform Matrian Security that it is a drill. T'Parief out."  
"Why are you being such a jerk!" Yanick demanded.  
T'Parief looked at her.  
"Preparing for an assassination is prudent for the Captain. Just as preparing for birth complications with the egg is prudent for us."  
"Ohhhh!" Yanick fumed as they entered the elevator.

"GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE!" Stafford was screaming when they arrived at his office in the government complex, "And if I see ANYBODY even RELATED to the Hazardous Team before the end of the day, I swear I'll have you sent to the coldest, most miserable part of this planet I can find!"  
"There is an outpost at Quatros Island," one of the Matrian Security guards said helpfully as he followed the Hazardous Team out of the office, not exactly looking impressed with them either.  
"I said miserable, not jungle paradise!" Stafford snapped.  
"That was Quatrios Island," T'Parief corrected him.  
"Qua-po-TAY-to, qua-po-TAH-to," Stafford fumed.  
"Quatato, qua-tah-to," Yanick said automatically, blinking innocently.  
"Qua-fuck-off," Stafford turned back to his office, then spun back around at T'Parief, "And I have WAY too much work to do to worry about those assholes this week! Get them under control, or get them out of here!"  
He spun back to his office and stomped angrily to his desk. Yanick moved inside to put the egg in its office incubator, and was surprised when he glared at her as well.  
"Do you have to keep bringing that thing here?" he asked, "It's cramped enough with you and Greensleeves over there,  
"I've had a BAD MORNING, Chris!" Yanick's eyes blazed yet again, this time directed at Stafford, "I don't NEED ANY MORE STRESS!"  
Stafford stared at her for a moment, then one corner of his mouth started twitching.  
"What?" Yanick demanded.  
"Well...it's just that most women get moody BEFORE they lay the egg..." he said, "It's like you're pregnant all over again!"  
She almost slugged him, then felt the corners of her own mouth pulling into a smile.  
Five seconds later, they were both laughing at the top of their lungs.  
"You want mood swings?" Yanick giggled, "I'll show you mood swings!"  
"You...You..." Stafford tried, but couldn't finish his thought. He took a few breaths, then was finally able to speak.  
"You just did!"  
They broke into laughter all over again. T'Parief made a low rattle of irritation deep in his throat, the way he often did either when a joke was at his expense or when he felt that Stafford, a human male, was becoming too...familiar...with his mate.  
And suddenly everything was better. Not exactly well. Not quite. But it was enough like the old times on Silverado's bridge that the level of tension in the room took a nose-dive.  
Dr. Wowryk chose that moment to walk up the ornate hallway. She took in T'Parief's irritated expression and the fading giggles on both Yanick and Stafford's faces, then rose an eyebrow in an expression that was almost Vulcan.  
"Is this a good time?" she asked.  
"NOEL!" Yanick practically squealed, running over to hug her best female friend, "I haven't seen you in nearly a week!"  
"I'm just a tram ride away," Wowryk said, trying to salvage her dignity as she was embraced. After a moment, Yanick jumped back.  
"How's the research going, Doc?" Stafford asked, turning his attention back to his terminal and the piles of paperwork stored therein. "It's interesting," Wowryk allowed, "Jall, Valtaic and I have been up on the Qu'Eh ship. They wiped a lot of their databanks, as expected, but there is plenty of documentation in the sickbay on the control implants. Enough to make the extraction method less...uncomfortable."  
"Fun," Stafford remarked.  
"But I didn't come here to talk about work," Wowryk said business-like, "I came to talk to Trish,"  
"There's a coffee shop down the corridor towards the lobby," Stafford said hopefully, "Please, take all three of them!"  
"Three?" Wowryk looked confused for a moment, then her gaze turned to the egg, "OH! That reminds me, I found this little gizmo in the Federation medical database,"  
She pulled out a small electronic patch, attached it to the shell then fiddled with it for a moment.  
"There," she stood back, satisfied.  
"What's it do?" Yanick asked, looking concerned.  
"It beeps," Wowryk said proudly.  
Stafford looked up from his screen.  
"Fascinating," he said, "An electronic thing. That beeps. You've outdone yourself this time, Doc,"  
Wowryk gave him a look of annoyance.  
"It beeps when there's a significant change in fetal bio-readings. Specifically, when it's getting ready to hatch."  
"Really?" Yanick gave T'Parief a look that Wowryk couldn't quite interpret. But it didn't exactly seem happy.  
"Really," she said, "You'll have about an hour before it hatches, once the alarm goes off,"  
"Oh thank God," Yanick sighed.  
"But enough about that, come on," Wowryk said, taking Yanick gently by the elbow and leading her to the door, "I need a favour,"  
T'Parief was about to pick up the egg and follow them, but Yanick turned back to him.  
"NO!" she said firmly. "Stay here. And Chris, try to figure out why he's being so...so...weird!"  
"I'm busy!" Stafford called after her, but she was gone.  
Stafford and his tactical officer stared at each other for a moment.  
"I could call Yvonnokoff," he offered.  
T'Parief's claws snicked in and out of their sheaths.  
"Or not," Stafford gulped.

"There's something I have to tell you," Wowryk said to Yanick as the two of them settled into a table at the unnamed coffee shop in the government building lobby, "It's sort of...personal. I don't really want anybody else to know yet,"  
Yanick sat up straight in her chair.  
"Oh, Noel, it's OK," she said, "I mean, I knew this was coming sooner or later, sort of. And I support you,"  
"You do?" Wowryk frowned, "You did?"  
"Well, when a woman goes for so long without dating a guy, well, it's usually a sign that maybe guy aren't for her," Yanick said carefully.  
Wowryk's frown deepened.  
"What?"  
"It's OK," Yanick patted her hand, "Nobody on the crew is going to judge you for being a lesbian. In fact, I think some of them will be turned-"  
"I'm not coming out of the closet here, Trish!" Wowryk's expression was a cross between shock, disbelief and exasperation, "I'm not a lesbian!"  
"Oh," Yanick shrugged, "What's the big secret then? OH! You had sex with that sexy Matrian boy that rescued you...Agent Jural?"  
"I haven't seen him since we launched Haven," Wowryk waved a hand dismissively, "No, the secret is..."  
Wowryk looked carefully around, as though she were about to give away Silverado's prefix code.  
"I'm going clubbing tomorrow afternoon. With Jall. To some kind of water gun party,"  
Yanick's jaw dropped.  
"YOU are going to the Wet and Wild party?" she gasped, "You have TICKETS to the Wet and Wild party?"  
"Well, I keep getting tickets for everything," Wowryk shrugged, "I just never go. But yes, I have tickets. So does Jall. And I think that dreadful security man, the perverted one,"  
"Stern," Yanick supplied.  
"Yes. Him."  
"How did THEY all get tickets and invitations while I didn't?" Yanick whined.  
"Because nobody has seen you since you laid your egg," Wowryk replied. She decided not to mention that as the liaison officer, Yanick was somewhat less famous than Wowryk (one of the leaders of the Matrian Rebellion), Jall (Silverado's commander during the defense of Matria prime, the same man who was captured and tortured by the Qu'Eh), and Stern (the security guy that led his daring rescue, not to mention several battles before and after the Qu'Eh took the planet).  
"Right," Yanick said glumly, "Lucky you. You have no idea how long it's been since T'Parief and I had a night out,"  
"Which is why I came by today..."

Stafford and T'Parief were still sitting quietly in the office when the girls returned. Their entire exchange had consisted pretty much of Stafford finally saying 'Fatherhood, huh? Must be terrifying.'  
To which T'Parief had simply replied 'Yes'.  
The great mystery of his moodiness solved, they hadn't really had anything else to say to each other.  
Yanick opened the office door and was followed in by Wowryk. Yanick put a steaming cup of coffee on Stafford's desk, which he grabbed immediately, his eyes never leaving the screen.  
"Thanks," he said.  
"I need the afternoon off," Yanick replied, "I need to help Noel with a... a personal thing. I need tomorrow afternoon off too. And don't come looking for me until after the weekend."  
"Thank God," Stafford sighed, "Yes, by all means. Go. Take your family with you, and don't let the door hit your ass on the way out,"  
"That saying never makes sense unless you work in a building with actual, swinging doors," Yanic giggled, "Which we are, for once. Thanks!"  
She was almost at the door, then she spun around and faced T'Parief.  
"Oh, and I almost forgot. We're going clubbing tomorrow afternoon. It's a big party, with lots of guns. You like guns. But they're water guns, so I like them too. I'll buy you a banana-hammock while I'm out helping Noel shop for cloths,"  
That caught even Stafford's attention.  
"T'Parief in a banana...oh geez," he shook his head, "Didn't need that mental picture, thanks."  
He typed two words, then looked up again.  
"Wait...Noel, are YOU..."  
Wowryk gave him the Look of Death.  
"None of my business," Stafford muttered, going back to work, "It's not like I'm leaving this office anytime in the next month.  
T'Parief was doing his throat-rattle thing.  
"Clubbing," he said flatly.  
"Pari, we're about to be parents," Yanick had an odd light in her eye, a mix of fear and excitement, "We're going to busy, stressed, and entirely focused on our child. We need to take these opportunities while we can, or the next thing you know I'm going to have five kids running around my feet, stretch marks, saggy, worn-out boobs, and you're going to be sitting in front of the screen with a pot-belly, mushy muscles and...and...dry scales!"  
There was uncertainty in the big reptile's eyes. He knew she was right. Their lives had changed so much already. And not necessarily for the better. When was the last time they'd had an evening where they could just go out and relax? And a water party! Matria's boring climate wasn't doing much for his scales. Sure, it wouldn't be the same as a good swamp soak, but still!  
"Who will watch the egg?" he asked.  
T'Parief, Yanick and Wowry all slowly turned to Stafford. He was still typing away, lost in the world of paperwork behind starship reconstruction. After a moment, he realized he was the center of attention and looked up.  
"What?"  
It suddenly clicked.  
"Wait...oh no," Stafford gulped, "No, no, no..."  
"It'll only be for one night!" Yanick pleaded, "It's not like you have to feed it or change it or anything! Just watch it! Maybe a gentle shell stroke once in a while!"  
"I'm not stroking anybody's shell!"  
"If anything happens, the monitor will go off," Wowryk said primly, "You will have an hour to call us back for hatching. And Nurse Veeneman is working out of Matronus General Hospital."  
"But I," Stafford gulped again, "I'm not good with...kids."  
Yanick planted both hands on his desk and leaned over.  
"Christopher, if I don't get ONE NIGHT of fun and partying before this egg hatches, I'm going to get more and more stressed until I finally POP! I NEED THIS!"  
"You planned this, didn't you?" Stafford said to Wowryk after a moment, "That's why you showed up with that beeper. Is this revenge for when I dropped that alien brat on you and Jeffery?"  
Wowryk gave a small smile as she shrugged.  
"I suppose leading a rebellion has made me a tiny bit more conniving than I used to be," she admitted.  
"God help us if you ever turn evil," Stafford shuddered, "Again. OK, fine. I'll watch the egg. But if I comm you, I expect you ALL to be back here at warp speed!"  
"Thanks Christ!" Yanick jumped up and grabbed Wowryk's arm, pulling her towards the door and the shopping beyond.  
"It will be good for you," Wowryk said smugly as she left.  
T'Parief turned uncomfortably towards his Captain.  
"I appreciate this," he said.  
"You better," Stafford grunted.  
"But," T'Parief allowed his teeth to show, "If anything happens to my spawn..."  
"Please," Stafford waved him away, "After Wowryk and Yanick finished with me, do you honestly think there would be anything left for you to deal with?"  
"Well...no."  
"Yeah," he returned his attention to his work, "Now take that egg and go. If I have to watch it all night tomorrow, I don't want to see it until then,"  
T'Parief nodded, picked up the egg and turned to leave.  
"And tell Stern and the HT I want my f**king kettle back!" Stafford shouted after him, "And it better be fixed! And NOT BOOBY TRAPPED!"  
He wasn't sure, but it sounded like T'Parief had agreed.  
"Finally, some peace and quiet." Stafford muttered to himself.  
After about five minutes, he had to admit that it was a bit TOO quiet. So he turned on the viewscreen.  
"This just in," an over-dressed, over-make-uped Matrian male was saying, "we've just received confirmation that Dr. Noel Wowryk, first officer of the USS Silverado and one of the leaders of the Rebellion against the Qu'Eh, has accepted an invitation to the Wet and Wild party happening tomorrow night! Of course, we'll have full coverage of the event, which is now just SURE to be the absolute party of the century!"  
"Acting first officer," Stafford corrected, "And wow...news travels fast."


	5. 4 - Life of the Party

Star Traks: Silverado

6.4 'Life of the Party'

Day Twelve:

"I don't understand how all these cloths are going to help," Wowryk said, carrying at least four bags with boutique logos on the sides, "It's a water gun party. I'm going to wear the swimsuit I bought the last time I was at Romulus Republic."  
"It's the principle of the thing," Yanick said as they approached Wowryk's small house in the suburbs, "Besides, you don't show up in the bathing suit. You wear something over it, then the more drunk you get, the more you take off,"  
"I won't be drinking much, thank you,"  
"Spoil-sport,"  
The door slid open, revealing Simon Jeffery seated in the small foyer.  
"Hi, Noel," he said nervously.  
"Simon," Wowryk moved forward to give him a quick, just-friends hug that surprised herself almost as much as it surprised him, "What brings you here?"  
"And how did you get into her house?" Yanick asked.  
"You're all programmed in," Wowryk waved her concerns away.  
"Oh. I thought it was engineering wizardry," Yanick said.  
"Oops" Simon gulped.  
"What?"  
"Well...if Ah'd known Ah was on the access list, Ah wouldn't have dismantled yer door lock," he pointed at a small pile of electronic pieces off to one side "Called it!" Yanick exclaimed.  
"I'll fix it before Ah go,"  
"So what brings you here, other than breaking and entering?" Wowryk was getting a bit frosty now.  
"Ah brought ye something," Jeffery said. He reached to one side and picked up a long package.  
Wowryk took it from him, then led them into her small dining room. The room was undecorated, simply a place for her to sleep, or to eat on those occasions where she took her meals at home. No effort had been made to personalize it. Placing the item on the table she opened it, revealing a gleaming water gun. "The one ye used to hose Misrek down with holy water looked like ye just pulled it out of a replicator," he said, "So I thought I'd make ye something nicer,"  
The water gun was about the same size as the generic, plastic one she'd used before. Big enough to give somebody a good hosing, but not big enough to require a back pack. The tank looked like a stylized Holy Water bottle, with a cross etched into what looked like glass, but was probably some sort of unbreakable polymer. The pressurizer pump handle was carved wood, gleaming a dark gold in the inside light. The tubes were pure titanium.  
"It's beautiful," she said lifting it carefully.  
"Guaranteed to drench anybody," Jeffery said proudly. Then his face fell a bit. "Ah tested it on a construction bot. Turns out they're not as waterproof as Ah thought. At least that one wasn't."  
"Oh."  
"Anyway, Ah got to go. Major Dekaire is riding me pretty hard at work. Ship's coming along though. And Sylvia says 'hi'."  
"Have a pleasant night, Simon," Wowryk said, not noticing Yanick making an obscene 'finger through circled finger' gesture and mouthing 'Majore Dekaire?' in Jeffery's direction.  
Jeffery just gave her a confused look as he dematerialized.  
"He forgot to fix your lock," Yanick pointed out, dropping her hands.  
"Men." Wowryk sighed, shaking her head.  
"I'll get that techie guy on the HT to do it. Marsden."  
"Great. So now what?" Wowryk asked.  
"Now, we get ready for the party tomorrow."  
"And what does this involve? Manicures? Facials? Do we have to spend all night trying on different outfits?"  
"You can if you want," Yanick shrugged, "I'm doing that tomorrow before the party. My plan for tonight is to go to bed early. So I have plenty of energy for tomorrow!"  
"Oh," Wowryk was surprised.  
"But...y'know, we could do each others' nails if you like"  
"Don't patronize me," Wowryk crossed her arms.  
Yanick giggled.  
"I better go make sure T'Parief and the egg are OK. It's going to be his first time leaving it with somebody else since I laid it,"  
"Is he going to be...ok with that?" Wowryk asked.  
"He better be," Yanick said darkly.

Day Thirteen:

Matrians didn't have red carpet affairs. The idea of standing in line to get into an event while simultaneously trying to look important and schmooze with other people trying to look important hadn't really caught on as far as civilian life went. Maybe it was practicality from the generations of war, or just an eagerness to get down to business. More formal events involving heads of state or political VIPs were conducted in manners closer to what humans would recognize as red carpet affairs, but for celebrities, nope.  
Still, as Wowryk, Jall, Yanick, T'Parief and Valtaic walked towards the entrance to the large outdoor park that was the site of the party, waterguns in hand, a small army of flying robots equipped with holo-cameras buzzed around overhead. On viewscreens across the city (and a few in several others), commentators commented on T'Parief's Gorn finery (leather straps and spikes weren't really big on Matria) and Jall's skin-tight outfit (most Matrian women still couldn't believe he was gay...he acted too much like a straight Matrian man). Yanick's outfit didn't really get any attention, which normally would have annoyed her, if she wasn't so thrilled to just finally be going out again. And of course there was much debate on the sort of swimsuit Dr. Wowryk was hiding under her stunning red and black Matrian pants suit. Valtaic was wearing his uniform and was assumed to be a bodyguard. They presented their tickets, allowed their water guns to be scanned (just in case) and proceeded into the park. It was still light out, the party beginning in the late afternoon hours. But it was already dimming. Soon the sun would set, and the park would be lit by the lighting systems setup for the event.  
"Let me state, yet again, that I do not wish to be here," Valtiac said flatly as he was 'escorted' through the park entrance with Jall on one side and Wowryk on the other, "I do not like parties, I do not like water, and as most of the women at this event are lesbians, they are unlikely to like me,"  
"Don't be silly," Yanick called back to him without even turning.  
Giving an uncharacteristic sigh of exasperation, Valtaic turned to Wowryk.  
"That is her answer for everything!" he complained.  
"You do too like parties," Jall cut in, "The boring kind. So this is a step up. And as I keep telling Stafford, just because the girls don't want to have sex with you doesn't mean they aren't fun! And if they like you, they'll introduce you to friends of theirs that will actually be into you. Oh, also, lots of people are this planet are trying to have kids. So who knows?"  
"And the water?"  
"You win some, you lose some," Jall shrugged, "I told you to bring a grounding rod or something,"  
"I did. It is still an unpleasant experience."  
"The point," Wowryk said, "Is that if I'm going to party, and T'Parief is going to party,"  
"Then we need somebody else here that's willing to stand around like a boring stiff all night," Jall finished.  
"Dr. Wowryk, oh I'm so glad you're here!" a Matrian man exclaimed, fluttering his hands around at the sight of Wowryk and almost pushing Jall right out of the way, "We expected you here half an hour ago!"  
"Who expected me?" Wowryk asked.  
"Oh, we have so much lined up for you! A photo op with the governess, the mayor of course, oh and I believe the sports minister wishes a photo taken with Commander Jall. Where is he?"  
"Over here. In the gutter," Jall quipped.  
"We're here to have fun," Yanick said, "Nobody said anything to us about photos and PR and stuff!"  
"Ah yes, you're the liaison officer, correct?"  
"Well...well yeah,"  
"Well, then I'm sure you understand that if you prefer not to help us promote the event, we'll just have to take those complimentary tickets back," the Matrian said snottily.  
"You didn't even send me any!" Yanick snapped.  
"Oh. Oops. I'll be sure you're on the list for the next party," he made a note on his pad, "Now then?"  
"Fine," Wowryk grumbled.  
"Hey!" Yanick pointed, "It's Counselor Yvonnokoff!"  
Sure enough, Yvonnokoff was passing nearby wearing a surprisingly revealing bikini and sipping something out of a plastic glass. Several attractive Matrian men (and a few women) were following behind her, clearly fans of either her show or her swimsuit.  
"Hey Doc," Jall called, "Wanna do some of these pics for us?"  
Yvonnokoff gave them a cold look.  
"Nyet," she said, "I vas to be guest of honour, until you five decide to come. But is good. I can now relax, vhile you do ze 'shilling'."  
"Can you at least get us drinks?" Yanick called as she walked away.  
"What is shilling?" Wowryk wondered.  
"What you people are about to do now," the Matrian said as two more Matrians with holo-cams approached, "Now here, take some drinks and try to look happy,"  
"Are these real?" Jall asked, eying the electric-blue beverage and trying to decide if it was alcohol, synthehol, or diluted warp plasma, "Like, not just coloured water or something?"  
"Of course they're real!"  
"Mixed strong?" Wowryk asked suspiciously.  
"Except for yours. We do keep track of our VIPs preferences,"  
"Never mind, Vonna!" Yanick called.  
Yvonnokoff said nothing, simply carrying on with her followers

Once again, when Stafford had arrived at his office the next morning it had felt like no time at all had passed since leaving the night before. He'd worked though the morning, wishing Yanick a fond farewell when Wowryk came to pick her up to get ready for the party. She and T'Parief had fussed over their egg for several minutes, making sure it was positioned just so on the pillow in the corner incubator. Wowryk had double-checked the readings and pressed the small 'test' button on the monitor patch, which obediently produced a loud and annoying beeping sound.  
And then they were gone. His office was empty, just him and the egg.  
The Matrian government complex was likewise quite empty. It was Friday afternoon! Well, OK, it wasn't actually Friday, but it was the day before the weekend and he couldn't remember what the actual Matrian name of the day was anyway. Not only that, but he was pretty sure that a good number of people who worked in the complex were off at that same damned party.  
So he'd decided to have a private little work party by himself. His office screen was showing the coverage of the event, he'd brought in a bottle of wine that Steven had salvaged from Silverado before the reconstruction had begun, he had several plates of snacks on standby, and even a bottle of greenish Matrian wine that Anselia had given him. He was about to pour himself a glass of the Earth wine (Matrian wine tasted like shit, but man what a kick) when Lt Comd Stern poked his head into the office. He was clad in a set of baggy overalls and had a respirator over the lower half of his face. He pulled it down around his neck to speak.  
"We're done cleaning the men's room on this level," he reported, "And Rengs has almost got the last dent out of your kettle. Can we go now?"  
"Did you polish all the doorknobs on this floor yet?" Stafford asked.  
"Uh, c'mon sir," Stern swallowed, "You're not going to make me tell the guys we're spending our Friday afternoon, uh...polishing knobs. A lot of us had really hoped to get into that big Wet & Wild water party."  
Stafford just looked at him.  
"Polishing doorknobs, aye sir," Stern said glumly. He left, snapping his respirator back into place as he departed.  
Stafford turned back to the media coverage of the party.  
"Wet and Wild," he frowned, "Where did I see..."  
He started rummaging around his desk until he came up with an actual paper envelop with the party logo on it. He opened it, finding two tickets inside. He aimed a padd with a translation program at it.  
"Huh," he said, "Guess that must have come a while back. Didn't even..." he trailed off as he read the invitation, "Sponsored by M'Lady's, in organized by...oh. Girls who like girls. I guess that's why Jall picked it. Blah blah, bring a water gun, your best swimsuit, and a 'have-fun' attitude. Snacks provided. Nice. And...oh,"  
His eyes widened as he read the fine print on the back.  
"In order to provide the most care-free party atmosphere possible, all incomming communications channels will be blocked upon entry. If you are expecting an urgent call, please register with the guest services table."  
His eyes wide, he looked over at the egg, a sense of dread forming in the pit of his stomach.  
"They would have registered, right?"  
The egg sat there, almost taunting him.  
"Don't you dare hatch. Just...don't you dare!"

Over at the party, the Silverado officers had finally been released from their PR duties, although the sky was definitely getting darker now. Yanick and Jall were dancing wildly, drinks in hand, while Wowryk picked at one of the snack tables. Valtaic had briefly started a conversation with an attractive brunette, but she'd given her friends the 'come save me' sign about three minutes in, leaving him standing awkwardly alone next to a tree. "I feel as thought we have...forgotten something," T'Parief grumbled.  
"Yes," Wowryk agreed, "Probably nothing important."  
"Indeed. Let us party,"  
"With dignity and poise," Wowryk added. She frowned, "Or, in your case, leather and spikes,"  
"Is there a difference?" T'Parief wondered.  
Wowryk lifted an eyebrow and turned back to the table.  
Stafford was starting to relax again, glass of wine in one hand and some sort of cheese in the other. He'd started some music in the background, and was enjoying the sight of Yanick dancing wildly on the screen while T'Parief looked into the scope of what looked like a sniper rifle, but Stafford really hoped was just some sort of precision water gun. Sure enough, the reptile squeezed the trigger, sending a small blast of water arcing over the dancing crowd, right into a blond woman in a one-piece. She squeaked in surprise, looking around for the source of the attack, then laughing and turning back to her friends.  
T'Parief promptly 'sniped' the lot of them.  
What he didn't realize, but that the announcer was all too happy to point out, was that the group of girls were simply bait. Even as he focused his attention on shooting the third girl, another group of women was quickly closing in on him.  
T'Parief didn't know what hit him. One might he was sniping away, the next he was the target of no less than half a dozen water balloons. His Gorn spikes caused most of them to burst before hitting his skin, but the result was a half-second for the water to spread before it hit him! Instantly drenched from head to toe, he gave a surprised growl, his head snapping around as he looked for the source of the attack.  
Stafford tensed, wondering if he was about to witness the first water fight induced mass murder in Matrian history. But the look of shock on T'Parief's face slipped away and to Stafford's surprise he actually laughed, nodding at his attackers as if to say 'I was sloppy, and you got me. Well done.' Yanick and Wowryk fired a couple of shots in their direction, but the Matrians were already moving off in search of another target.  
Stafford was about to turn back to his work when he caught a glimpse of a water balloon flying straight for Valtaic. Wincing, and certain somebody was about to get electrocuted, his hand started reaching for the comm-panel in his desk to alert Emergency Services.  
The balloon hit Valtaic, breaking open and unleashing a spray of water across his back. The alien shouted in surprise, a tone from Stafford's translator informing him that it was a word with no translation, probably some kind of Lithinarian profanity. There was a spray of sparks around Valtaic's feet, but none of the Matrians around him seemed to notice.  
The camera went off to follow another, more interesting group of party goers. With a sigh that was half-relief, half apprehension, Stafford returned to his work.  
BEEP!  
Stafford jolted to his feet! The egg! The egg was beeping! The egg was...wait.  
BEEP!  
Stafford turned to his comm-panel, which was flashing with an incoming call. He tapped 'accept' and faced the screen.  
"Christopher, why aren't you at the party?" Sylvia demanded.  
"Hello to you too," Stafford said mildly, taking a sip of wine, "I'm relaxing. As you may have been too far away to notice, I've been dealing with a lot of people and a lot of crap. So I'm actually really enjoying the chance to kick everybody out of my office and have the space to myself,"  
"Is that a hint?" Sylvia crossed her arms. "Well, noooo," Stafford said slowly, "I have an egg here that would probably just love a computerized baby-sitter to keep it company, if you're bored. Or even back yet."  
"Haven will enter orbit of Matria Prime in three hours," Sylvia said, "We're just going to get settled into orbit, then Jeffery has to arrange to pick up all the ship pieces that got left behind after we departed,"  
"So, you don't want to babysit?"  
"I'd love to," Sylvia smiled, "But I'm sort of far at the moment. Besides, I think this will be a good experience for you!"  
His hopes dashed, Stafford took another sip of wine.  
"OK then. Anything else?"  
"No, just called to let you know we'll be back safely in a few hours,"  
"Great, have fun. I'm going back to enjoying my peace and quiet,"  
"You do that,"  
"Bye," he cut the channel.

Back at the party, Yanick and Jall were still dancing away, water fight almost forgotten. T'Parief and Valtaic had started their own sort of hunt, with T'Parief continuing on the offense while Valtaic watched his flanks and water-blasted anybody who tried to sneak up on the admittedly large target T'Parief made. Stafford hadn't been able to see them on the holo-vision, but he'd attached a pair of small metal spikes that ran from his ankles to the bottoms of his shoes, grounding out any energy fields he might accidentally generate. They were uncomfortable as hell, like covering one eye or plugging his ears. But water and energy fields were likely a bad mix. Wowryk had taken a comfortable seat in a VIP area overlooking the dance floor and had settled in to 'observe'. With her striking outfit, a cocktail glass in one hand and a small smile on her face, she actually managed to look like she was having a good time.  
And to her surprise, she was. Something was...different. She'd asked for a comfortable seat where she could watch Yanick and Jall dancing away, and was promptly presented with one. The drink in her hand was lightly mixed, nobody had hit on her yet, and she was...she was...  
She was being left alone to enjoy the party on her own terms, she realized. Whether it was her celebrity status among the Matrians or the fact that Jall, Yanick and T'Parief were used to going out without her, the fact was she wasn't being pressured in any way. And that was great.  
Maybe this was going to be a fun night out after all. She might even go approach some of the Matrian boys. They weren't exactly trouble, after all. Far easier to get along with than the average human male. She found herself looking around the VIP area, then noticed a rather attractive Matrian man looking her way.  
She found herself giving him a smile. Not a large smile. But larger than the one she had been giving before.  
Yes, this could be entertaining for sure.

Stafford was now completely relaxed.  
The Earth wine was gone, but he was just drunk enough that the Matrian wine didn't taste that bad. He still had plenty of snacks left, though he wasn't particularly hungry. The screen was still showing the big water fight party, but he'd only watched long enough to establish that his people weren't in any trouble, yet. He finished off another one of the forms he was working on for Tunney, hit the 'Submit' button, and smiled when the auto-checker came back with zero errors. He'd be a paperwork king at this rate!  
That depressing thought in mind, he took a deep drink of the awful wine.  
"Uh, sir?" it was Stern again, "We're...um. We're done knob-polishing,"  
Stafford nearly coughed up his wine, which really had been bad enough going down the first time.  
"I always knew you guys spent too much time together," he remarked.  
"Very amusing, sir," Stern grunted.  
"Yeah, fine," Stafford waved his hand, "You guys can go. I think everything here is under control. I'm going to finish up a few more forms, then head back. I think-"  
BEEP!  
Slowly, Stafford's eyes lowered to his comm-panel. Please, be a call. Please, please be a call. Oh, please...  
BEEP!  
Please, God. Stafford prayed. Please, please, please...  
"Is that egg supposed to be beeping?" Stern asked.  
"Fuck," Stafford's forehead met the desk with a clunk.

Across the city, Yanick stiffened.  
"What?" Jall asked, "Somebody grab your butt again?"  
"Yeah," Yanick giggled, "I wouldn't mind so much, but if T'Parief sees, we're going to have an...incident."  
"Got it,"

"Answer, damn it!" Stafford was pressing the 'Yanick' button on his comm-panel repeatedly, but the screen kept flashing 'Error Receiver Unavailable'. He tried T'Parief, Wowryk, Valtaic, even Yvonnokoff. Nothing.  
"I thought you said all the comm lines into the party were blocked?" Stern asked.  
"I was sort of hoping Starfleet comm-badges wouldn't be affected," Stafford groaned, "OK, let's think this through logically. I have just under an hour until this thing hatches! I can't get hold of the parents. Or the doctor. Matrian hospitals won't have a clue how to deal with this. Most of our medical staff is aboard Haven, which is too far away for impulse and too close now for warp drive. Let's see..."  
"Nurse Veeneman!" Lt Marsden jumped in. Most of the Hazardous Team had flocked to his office when the beeping had started. They were still wearing the drab cleaning overalls they'd changed into when they'd started their forced cleaning detail and looked far more like the cast from Ghostbusters as opposed to Starfleet officers. "She's been working at one of the hospitals in the city, somebody about Federation and Matrian vaccination exchanges,"  
Stafford looked at him oddly.  
"He sort of has a thing for her," Stern explained, "Even though she already HAS a boyfriend," he added pointedly.  
"Hey, I still have a chance," Marsden muttered.  
"Whatever,"  
Stafford was already tapping at his panel.

In the VIP section, Wowryk and Darik, the Matrian she'd been eying, were enjoying a drink and a deep philosophical discussion on the merits of dermal regeneration. He was, it turned out, a doctor at one of the downtown hospitals.  
"Fascinating," Wowryk said, "Federation technology used something similar about fifty years ago, but the Vulcans determined that method was more likely to cause...well, tumors."  
"Really?" Darik chuckled, "Well, then I guess we're sort of doomed, aren't we?"  
"Hey doc!"  
"Yes," Wowryk and Darik both replied automatically, turning to the familiar voice. Wowryk spotted her first as Nurse Veeneman walked up to the edge of the VIP area.  
"I wanted to introduce you to...oh. You found each other." Veeneman gave them a sly look, "I met Dr. Darik at the vaccine exchange conference, and I thought you two might hit it off. But you beat me to it! See ya!"  
"Wait," Wowry called as she turned to go, "I thought...I didn't realize you were going to be here. I thought you were working at the hospital,"  
"I'm off duty," Veeneman shrugged.  
"Guess we should have checked that," Wowryk muttered, a frown on her face.  
"Checked what?" Darik asked.  
"Never mind, it's probably nothing."

"Ohh, my God," Stafford groaned, tapping desperately at his comm-panel, which merely beeped and repeated its error message. The egg continued beeping, the beeps coming slightly faster now.  
"Sir, SIR!" Stern rushed around the desk and blocked the comm-panel from Stafford's probing fingers, "That's not helping. And it's giving me a headache,"  
"I found the 'mute' button," Marsden reported from the egg, "But there's a count-down timer. It says hatching in 50 minutes, plus or minus five minutes,"  
"Have any of you ever delivered a...an egg, before?" Stafford gulped.  
"Considering what our boss will do to us if something goes wrong?" Stern asked, "No, and we're not willing to learn now. Sir, I know you don't want to consider it, but there is only one option:"  
"Rush to the hospital and hope they can figure it out?" Stafford said hopefully.  
"I know you're upset, so you probably haven't considered what T'Parief, Yanick and Wowryk will do to you...and us...if we try that,"  
"You're right," Stafford reluctantly agreed, "So what's your plan?"  
"Hazardous Team, it's time for a mission," Stern said firmly.  
"Wait..you're not," Stafford gulped, "Oh no. No."  
"Marsden, get the transit map and find the most efficient route," Stern ordered, "Kreklor, Dar'ugal, you're on point. Simmons and Rengs, keep an eye on our flanks,"  
"Ohhh, you are," Stafford palm had somehow found it's way to his face.  
"We're going to that party," Stern said, reaching for his phaser, "We're breaking in, we're finding the parents, the doctor, maybe a cocktail or two,"  
"Are we're going to hatch this fucking egg," he finished confidently.  
"And you're doing it in overalls?" Stafford asked slowly.  
"Hey, a good disguise never hurt," Stern shrugged.  
"Why does this sort of thing always happen to us?" Stafford sighed, rising to follow as the HT rushed out of the room.

Two minutes later, he was running back into his office.  
"I thought YOU were carrying the egg!" he accused Stern.  
"Why would I be carrying it, sir? YOU'RE the babysitter!" Stern replied, "Besides, I need my hands free. For phasering."  
"You're not phasering anybody!" Stafford snapped. He reached out, hesitated, then reached towards the egg again. Again, he hesitated.  
"It's not going to bite you," Stern said.  
"I know," Stafford gulped, "It's just that...it's still technically a baby,"  
"Or an omlette," Simmons said helpfully, "Like, Schrodinger s Egg! We won't know until it's opened!" Marsden gave him a hard elbow in the ribs.  
Stafford visibly braced himself, then carefully picking up the egg and strapped it into the exoskeleton, attaching it to the handy shoulder harness that left it hanging in front of his chest. "Now let's get this dramatic...whatever it is, on the road."

Wowryk excused herself from Darik, finding herself in need of one of those trips to the little ladies room that one so often needs when one is drinking, even lightly. She emptied her glass, promised to return and slipped towards a discrete gate leading out of the VIP area.  
The park had several buildings scattered around. Most were combinations of restaurants, information booths and lavatories. A couple were maintenance buildings, used for the storage of the equipment used to maintain the park. A bright light shone on a sign that showed an outlined image of what appeared to be the icon for a ladies room.  
Unfortunately, despite the signage, it was one of the maintenance buildings Wowryk found herself in rather than the desired VIP bathroom. The door was unlocked and swished open as she approached, revealing a mixed collection of gardening robots, garbage removal drones and a wall packed with landscaping bricks.  
Interesting, but she really had to go to the bathroom now.  
She looked around frantically, finally spotting a likely door. Sure enough, there was a small, unisex washroom. She ran inside and yanked the door shut.  
She had just finished her business when the outside door burst open again. She opened the door and was about to explain that this wasn't actually the lavatory, but that there was a stall if they were...well, getting desperate.  
But something stopped her. Maybe it was the expression on the intruders' faces. Maybe it was intuition. But she froze. The door was open a crack and the light in the washroom was already off. It was unlikely they would see her unless they actually walked over and peered right into the small room.  
"-told you the bathrooms were the other way! We're never going to find her now!"  
"So sorry, sir," a female voice, unusually subservient for a Matrian.  
"First Stafford, now Wowryk," the first voice complained, "This should be a simple matter. There were enough women at this party that Stafford should have come running. We thought getting Wowryk was a bonus, but now she's all we've got!"  
Wowryk unconsciously eased a bit further back from the door. Who were these people?  
"We can wait until she returns to her seat," a second female voice suggested, "Or try one of the other Silverado people. There are several here,"  
"Peons!" the male voice dismissed. "We need Stafford or Wowryk to make this work. And they probably won't exactly be willing." He sighed. "Come on. If they have some genuine Raleesh rum this night won't be a complete loss,"  
Wowryk peeked through the crack in the door just in time to see three Matrians, two female and one male, turning to exit the building. The women were tall, broad shouldered and well built. Bodyguards? Security?  
Hired thugs?  
She barely caught a glance of the leader. He was a slim male of average height, unremarkable features and impeccably groomed hair. His suit was of a strange Matrian cut, emphasizing curves that human males would prefer not be emphasized. But she didn't recognize him at all. What did he want with Stafford?  
What did he want with her?  
Wowryk waited for a few moments, then exited the building. Up ahead she could see the trio re-entering the party, exchanging a nod with the guard watching the VIP entrance and turning to the right, towards the bar and seating area.  
Wowryk followed, then immediately turned the other direction, towards the dance floor. She had to warn the others!

"You know," Stafford said, fidgeting with the egg harness, "This isn't really what I had in mind for a dramatic rescue,"  
"Do you know how expensive cabs are in this city?" Stern asked, "Or how long it would take them to take to get through traffic,"  
"Arrrgghhhh!" Stafford groaned.  
"Please sir, sit down" Stern said, "You're making the other passengers nervous."  
Stafford looked around the crowded subway car. Sure enough, the Matrians were looking at him with expressions ranging from mild concern to all out fear. It abruptly crossed his mind that he was a somewhat high-ranking member of their government, a starship captain, an alien and, at the moment, some crazy guy holding an egg slightly bigger than your average watermelon.  
Stafford sat.  
"Sorry folks," he muttered.  
The train eased up to a station platform. The doors opened and the vast majority of the passengers apparently decided that this was their stop.  
"Two more to go," Marsden said, glancing at the route map.

Wowryk pushed her way through the crowd, hunting for Jall's short, spiky hair or the walking green mountain that was T'Parief. She didn't see either of them. But she did find Valtaic.  
"-which led to the great Advertiser Purge and perhaps the greatest but final massacre in Lithinarian history" he was saying to a rather pretty red-headed Matrian.  
"But how-"  
"Mr. Valtaic!" Wowryk pushed in, "We have a problem! I've got to find T'Parief!"  
"Dr Wowryk!" the Matrian woman exclaimed, "I was SO hoping I'd have the chance to meet you!"  
Wowryk tried to cover her panic with what she hoped was a friendly smile.  
"I'm very sorry, Miss..."  
"Beki," Valtaic supplied.  
"Beki," Wowryk finished, "But there's been a bit of an...incident...and I'm afraid I need Mr. Valtaic for a moment,"  
She didn't see Valtaic frantically shaking his head.  
"Oh, of course," Beki immediately took on a professional air, "Please excuse me,"  
And she was gone. Probably a former soldier or Mistress, Wowryk mused, used to dealing with the unexpected.  
"I wish you had not done that," Valtaic said.  
"Forget your potential sinful conquest," Wowryk snapped, "I just heard a group of Matrians talking about some kind of plot! They're after me or Stafford, whoever they can get!"  
"T'Parief is this way," Valtaic said immediately, moving to guide her, "However, there are two things you should know,"  
"What?"  
"First, that woman is the first to show sexual interest in me since our arrival here. You may have ruined that,"  
"Don't care," Wowryk said, "And second?"  
"She is a news reporter," Valtaic sighed, "Which means she will be back with a camera bot very shortly. Our time to resolve this issue discreetly is now very, very limited.  
They pushed through the crowd. Finally, Wowryk saw T'Parief towering over Yanick and a group of Matrians. Jall was nearby, dancing with Nurse Veeneman.  
"Doc!" Jall called, "We thought you got lost on the way to the bathroom!"  
"I did!" Wowryk shouted back over the music. She pulled T'Parief's ear down to her level and quickly repeated what she'd heard.  
He tensed, immediately going into security mode.  
"We must secure this facility," he said, "I will notify security immediately. You will stay here. Do not wander off again,"  
"But-" Wowryk said.  
"He's right," Jall reassured her, "The safest place right now is in the middle of a crowd.  
Reluctantly, Wowryk remained put.

"No, I don't have a ticket!" Stafford was saying for the third time, "Not on me. I left it on my desk! I'm trying to find the parents of this egg before it hatches! And their doctor!" Behind him, the Hazardous team had taken up position around the entrance, every approach to the park entrance was under guard. With the party well underway and all the important guests having arrived, the camera bots had vanished.  
The bouncer continued to stare Stafford down, her thick arms crossed over her chest. Next to her, a smaller male was going over a checklist.  
"I don't see anybody who registered for an egg delivery," she said.  
"Come on! Everybody on this planet knows who T'Parief is, right? Wowryk? Yanick? How many OTHER aliens have laid eggs in the past few months?"  
"It's a clever story," the bouncer said.  
"I'm just doing my job," the list-checker said, "After all, those people behind you look more like janitors than a security squad, and we've already had three people without tickets claim they were San Jall just to get in,"  
"Really?" Stafford was taken aback.  
"Really. So sit tight until I can properly verify who you are,"  
Staffor was stunned. Who the heck did he think he was? This was an emergency! He had less than twenty minutes now to find Yanick, T"Parief and Wowryk!  
Stern seemed to be thinking the same thing. Well, he was actually thinking that he was way sexier than a janitor, but that wasn't really relevant to their mission.  
"You could always pull rank," he suggested to Stafford.  
"What rank?" Stafford threw his arms in the air, the egg still hanging from the harness, "They're civilians!"  
"And aren't you part of the government? You've got to have some sort of authority, right?"  
Stafford started. He was, actually. He hadn't really thought of himself that way. He was in command of his crew, that hadn't changed, but his day to day job for the past while hadn't involved much actual commanding. Just doing bitch work for Tunney, and sorting out the Silverado rebuild.  
But he'd been the Matrian Minister of Planetary Defense for most of the Qu'Eh debacle. And he was still a Special Adviser to the council. That had to have some pull!  
He stormed back to the bouncer.  
"You listen here," he snapped, "I am Captain Christopher Stafford, commander of the USS Silverado, and Special Federation Adviser to the Matrian Council. This is a medical emergency, and if you continue to interfere then you will be responsible for a diplomatic incident with the same Federation that helped save your butts. Now. Let. Me. IN!"  
The Matrian with the list gulped.  
"D-do you have your Matrian government photo ID card with you?"  
"Haven't you seen the news in the past six months?" Stafford demanded, "Look at my frickin' face!"  
"So sorry, Adviser," she said, gesturing for the bouncer to step aside.  
Feeling twelve feet tall, Stafford stepped through the gate, Stern and the rest following.  
"Let's find the DJ booth," he said, "Quickest thing would be to kill the music and put out an announcement."

"Security has been advised," T'Parief said, "However, there is little they can do. They have no real weapons. Also, there was some confusion at the gate. Somebody claiming to be from the government forced his way inside less than five minutes ago, looking for us. He refused to present any identification,"  
"Thank God the egg is safe with Chris," Yanick said. They had all gathered in a discreet corner of the dance area, still surrounded by dancing Matrians. T'Parief had dropped to his knees in order to better blend in, his height no longer advertising their location like a glaring beacon.  
"There he is!" Wowryk hissed, pointing.  
They turned to see the fairly average, nondescript Matrian man and his two female companions/bodyguards/escorts/whatever. They were looking around, but apparently hadn't noticed them yet.  
T'Parief relaxed.  
"They do not appear to be a threat," he said.  
"THEY don't," Wowryk said, "But do you really think they're alone? I mean, we just heard that somebody pushed their way in!"  
"It might just be a party crasher," Veeneman suggested.  
A few minutes later, the music dropped in volume and a cheerful, female voice came over the speakers.  
"Would Dr. Wowryk, Lieutenant Yanick and Lt Comd T'Parief please report to the DJ booth immediately,"  
The music resumed.  
Wowryk, Yanick and T'Parief exchanged a glance.  
"It's a trap," T'Parief rumbled.  
"Thanks, we figured that one out, muscles," Jall told him dryly, "Along with the fact that traps are really bad for defenseless, half-drunks like ourselves,"  
"I am not defenseless," T'Parief said, snicking his claws from their sheaths.  
"The rest of us don't have claws," Yanick said, looking worried.  
"I have an idea," Jall said, "Doc, give me your gun,"  
Wowryk hesitated. It was a really nice water gun, and a thoughtful gift from Jeffery. But Jall looked like he had an idea, so she handed it over.  
"Back in a tick," he said.

Stafford stepped down from the DJ booth and rejoined Stern and the team.  
"If that doesn't get their attention, nothing will," he said, "How are we doing?"  
Stern checked the timer.  
"Ten minutes,"  
"Look around, see if you can spot them," Stafford ordered. He winced as another party-going jostled him, his arms covering the egg protectively.  
"I'm finding a corner where I'm not going to bounce this thing around!" he said.

"See anything?" Wowryk asked Valtaic.  
"I see several people near the DJ booth with weapons that are too small to be water guns," Valtaic said, "I cannot make out their faces in the dim light, however they appear to be wearing overalls,"  
"That's not exactly a club thing, is it?" Wowryk asked.  
"Only if it's Mechanic's Fetish Night," Yanick shrugged.  
"That's a thing?"  
"On some planet? Probably."  
"OK, I think I have a plan" Jall said, returning with Wowryk's gun and a bag of clinking bottles, "I had to pimp out Valtaic for it, but I think it'll be worth it,"  
"I beg your pardon?" Valtaic asked.  
"They're hot, OK?" Jall said, "And it's not like I was going to be able to do anything with beautiful women, so you can thank me later,"  
Valtaic, looking confused, really had nothing to say to that.  
"What is it?" Yanick asked.  
Jall lifted Wowryk's water gun and shot Yanick in the face. In the mouth, specifically.  
Yanick sputtered.  
"Is that...vodka?" she demanded.  
"Close enough," Jall shrugged.  
"You're going to shoot them with booze?" Wowryk demanded, "Wait...you PUT BOOZE IN MY HOLY WATER BOTTLE?"  
"Relax, Doc" Jall reassured her, "I'm sure priests have been doing the same thing for centuries, when they weren't feeling up the alter boys,"  
Wowryk sputtered, her face flushing red with fury.  
"And the plan isn't just to spray them with liquor," Jall added.  
"It's not?" Yanick asked.  
"Well, yes we're going to spray them with liquor," he reached into the bag and drew out a small container of long-burn matches.  
"But then we're going to set them on fire," he finished.  
T'Parief nodded, looking at Jall with something that was almost respect. Yanick looked doubtful, while Wowryk was about to start an old-fashioned Wowryk rant, the likes of which had not been seen since little Luke had peed on her favourite alter cloth.  
"It doesn't burn too hot," Jall went on, "And there are plenty of people with water guns to put them out. It's more of an emergency thing, y'know?"  
"And we are probably going to need it soon," Valtaic pointed. The nondescript Matrian man and his two women had joined the group in overalls. One of them was pointing right in their direction.

"I've got Parian life-signs over there," Marsden said, pointing in one direction with his tricorder, "Stationary."  
"Why aren't they coming?" Stafford demanded.  
"A credit for each time I tried to figure that one out," Simmons said glumly.  
"That's because shouting 'bombs away' when she's almost there is a big mood killer," Stern said flatly.  
"Eww," Stafford muttered.  
"Minister Stafford!" a voice exclaimed, "Why, what an absolute pleasure it is to see you here! I had thought you had declined our invitation!"  
"Huh?" Stafford spun around, hands grabbing at the egg, only to find himself face-to-face with an average looking looking Matrian, flanked by what had to be two bodyguards, "Look, I'm sort of in the middle of an emergency,"  
"I see," the man said, "You wouldn't, by chance, be trying to locate Dr. Wowryk?"  
"Have you seen her?" Stafford demanded.  
"Not for some time," the man said, "Excuse me, how rude. Allow me to introduce myself: I am Mr. Nor-Mall Mann, president of M'Lady's. We are a rather large manufacturing and retail concern here on Matria Prime,"  
"That's great," Stafford said, eyes on his egg timer, "but if I don't find Wowryk, the blond and the lizard in five minutes, I'm fucked. So pardon me,"  
"Oh, I insist we help," Mann said, gesturing at his body-guards, "I believe your guard said they were that way?"  
"Can we at least kill the music?" Stafford demanded.  
"I will see to it," Mann made another gesture, and one guard moved back to the booth.

"I still can't see a thing in this shitty light!" Yanick complained.  
"They are coming," Valtaic said, "They are impossible to miss, they are the only ones in overalls,"  
"So shoot the overalls?" "Yes,"  
Valtaic looked up again. The Matrian and one bodyguard seemed to be leading the pack, along with a tall male in overalls. A darker shape, the leader? Whoever he was, he was hanging behind in the shadows.  
The music abruptly died.  
"Dr. Wowryk," a female voice came over the speakers, "You must report to your security immediately!"  
"Attack!" T'Parief abruptly roared, pulling out his gun and firing a stream of acrid alcohol at the nearest person in overalls.  
"What the-"  
"TAKE THAT!" Yanick shouted, squeezing her trigger and likewise dousing the nearest target. A target that, as it grew closer was starting to look familiar.

"Oh hell!" Stern shouted, "It's T'Parief! And he must be drunk or something! Take him down, we'll worry about the rest later!  
"Shit," Stafford muttered. The egg timer was counting down the last minute. He could swear that he could feel something starting to move inside...a slight tremor in the shell, perhaps as the baby positioned itself to break through its tiny universe.

Phaser fire shot out from three different locations, each one hitting T'Parief. The reptile went down with a thump.  
All around them, party-goers suddenly had someplace else to be. It was a mad scramble as Matrians pushed off the dance floor, screaming. The dance lights were still pulsing in the dim twilight of the park, the peaceful starry sky a counterpoint to the pandemonium below.  
Then Jall started throwing matches

Stafford screamed like a little girl as Marsden suddenly went up in flames. Marsden was swearing like a redneck, pulling off his overalls and stomping them into the ground. Kreklor and Simmons were likewise ablaze, but the flames didn't seem very fierce.  
He was close enough now to see who was attacking them. What he couldn't figure out was why the hell his OWN PEOPLE were dousing them with alcohol and setting them on fire!

"Wait, wait," Jall shouted, holding back his next match at the very last minute, "Did you hear that?"  
"I know that scream!" Wowryk said, abruptly lowering her gun and standing. "Captain Stafford?" she called out.  
"Yeah!" Stafford shouted back, barely audible over the din, "What the fuck is wrong with you people!"  
Jall and Wowryk exchanged glances.  
"Oops," Jall shrugged.

With that settled, Stafford rushed over, unstrapping the egg as he did. Stern had just finished putting out Rengs and was establishing a perimeter.  
"The damned thing's going to hatch any minute now!" he shouted, thrusting the egg at Wowryk,"  
"And?" she asked looking at him blankly.  
"You're a doctor! Hatch it!" he snapped.  
"I'm the mother!" Yanick said fiercely, grabbing the egg from between them, "Stern! I need something soft! On this table here! And you guys better wake up T'Parief!"  
"On it!" Stern said. In seconds, the singed overalls had been formed into a sort of nest. Yanick placed the egg in the center and looked at it expectantly.  
"It's an egg, you know," Wowryk said quietly to Stafford, "By definition, it sort of hatches all by itself,"  
"Oh," Stafford said, feeling slightly foolish.  
"RAAAAGGGHHHHHHRRRRR!"  
"Good, T'Parief's up in time," Wowryk said as Simmons was abruptly tossed across their field of view.  
"He still doesn't wake up well, does he?" Stafford agreed. But as soon as he saw his egg and realized what was happening, T'Parief was at Yanick's side, one arm around her shoulders as they watched. Jall and Valtaic were to their left, Wowryk and Stafford to their right. Veeneman and Darik had joined them, off to one side. The Hazardous Team was arrayed around them, Stern speaking reassuringly to a large looking group of bouncers. Although things had calmed down considerably, nobody was approaching them.  
The egg trembled slightly, then stilled. Trembled again, then stilled.  
"Isn't something supposed to happen?" Jall asked.  
"Yes," Wowryk said, her voice all business, "Veeneman?"  
"Wish I had a tricorder," Veeneman muttered. Marsden slapped one in her hand.  
"A medical tricorder," Veeneman clarified.  
"Uh, it is. It's from our med-kit,"  
"Hmm?" Veeneman looked at the device, "Oh. A compact model. Silly me,"  
She tapped away.  
"Unusually high heart rate," she said, her voice turning professional, "Blood-gas levels deteriorating. Wait..."  
The egg trembled again, the shell almost seemed to creak under the pressure.  
"The baby doesn't quite have the strength to break the shell," Wowryk decided, "It's been known to happen,"  
"Oh my God!" Yanick gasped. T'Parief turned to Wowryk.  
"Surely you can-"  
"Shut up and let me work," Wowryk cut him off, "Veeneman, I need the baby's position,"  
"On it," Veeneman fiddled with the tricorder.  
"HURRY!" Yanick exclaimed, tears in her eyes.  
Wowryk grasped the egg, then started rotating it.  
"Keep going, keep going," Veeneman said, "Another ten degrees...there! Posterior is now on the dorsal shell!"  
"What does that mean?" Stafford demanded.  
Wowryk visibly steadied herself, then turned to T'Parief and Yanick.  
"You probably don't want to see this," she warned.  
"Will it save the baby," Yanick demanded.  
Wowryk nodded.  
"Then just do it,"  
Wowryk nodded again, her face set. She raised one hand above the egg...  
Then brought it down in a rough karate chop, striking near one end of the egg! Yanick screamed, her voice filling the park! T'Parief roared, and nearly pounced on Wowryk until...until he saw...  
The egg had split right down the center, exposing pale green skin with a faint outline of scales. The part of the egg Wowryk had struck fell away to expose tiny buttocks, and the other end fell away as the baby pushed at it.  
"WAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!"  
Wowryk quickly and daintily picked away the pieces of shell, grabbed a piece of overall that wasn't drenched with booze and proceeded to wipe away the last few remnants of shell before presenting the baby to Yanick.  
"Trish," Wowryk could barely keep the grin off her face, "Your daughter,"  
"Ohhh!" Yanick reached out and took the infant in her arms. The baby was still crying, but quickly calmed as her mother held her close, "Pari! Oh, Pari, come look at her!"  
No answer. Yanick looked around.  
Both Stafford and T'Parief had fainted dead away.

They moved off to the VIP area of the event, allowing the music to continue and the dance floor to be cleared. A number of party-goers were still present, but it was clear that a larger number had decided to revise their evening plans. Frankly, Yanick and T'Parief wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible, but there were a few loose ends to clean up.  
"Of course, we realize our part in this," Mr. Mann was saying, "The 'Comm-Blocker' policy was something of an experiment, and certainly caused some issue. Though if your people had registered as they were supposed to..."  
"We forgot," Wowryk admitted.  
"It's still a dumb idea," Stafford said flatly.  
"Perhaps," Mann shrugged, "But in the end, no harm was done. Though I expect our profit margins will be somewhat hurt by the lower attendance."  
"Starfleet doesn't use money," Stafford said immediately, recognizing the subtle hint,"  
"Oh, of course not," Mann smiled, "But still, there are things you can do that would mean a great deal to us. For example, the waiting list to open a storefront aboard Haven is quite long at the moment, and there doesn't seem to be much appetite in the current government to...develop...the city,"  
"That's what you wanted Stafford and I for!" Wowryk exclaimed, "You weren't trying to kidnap us or torture us or something! You just wanted us to...to..."  
"Use our influence with the Matrian Council to help your business," Stafford said, looking disgusted.  
"In your culture, I believe they called it 'lobbying'," Mann said smoothly.  
"Well forget it!"  
"Hmmm. Well, if nothing else, I suppose the news feed from tonight will be excellent...publicity," Mann mused aloud.  
"News feed?" Stafford asked warily, his stomach abruptly dropping.  
"Oh yes," Mann said, "Luckily, a reporter affiliated with our company received a head's-up that a situation was developing, and managed to get some excellent footage,"  
He help up a small screen, showing several men in overalls, obviously Starfleet due to the presence of Dar'ugal and Kreklor towards the rear, shooting at T'Parief while Wowryk, Jall and Yanick doused them and set them on fire. The clip ended with Wowryk bludgeoning Yanick's egg, but didn't bother to show the happy ending.  
The colour drained from Stafford's face.  
"You wouldn't dare!" he snapped.  
"Wouldn't I?" Mann smiled mildly.  
"You put that on the air, and I swear I will use every piece of influence I have to destroy your company!" Wowryk said with surprising vehemence, "I will NOT be portrayed as some sort of...butcher!"  
"Yeah, there's got to be some sort of slander law or something," Stafford said, "And I hate to break it to you buddy, but even if you embarrass the heck out of us, it's not going to help your company any,"  
"Maybe not," Mann admitted.  
They all glared at each other for a moment.  
"How about this," Yanick suggested, joining the conversation, "You change that editing so it just looks like an emergency childbirth. Get it on the air now, maybe get some of your lost customers back. Half-price drinks or something, get new people in here."  
"That might undue some damage," Mann admitted, "Of course, having Dr. Wowryk center stage will certainly help. But that still doesn't help us with the other problem."  
"Look," Stafford sighed, "I can't lobby. Not for you specifically. But you're right, they are taking a pretty long time to get things going with Haven. I'll at least have a talk with the queen about getting more business up there in general, OK?  
Mann thought it over.  
"Acceptable."

T'Parief and Yanick left immediately with their baby. Valtaic had attempted to flee, but Jall hauled him over to one of the rear bars and announced that he now had to 'entertain' the two very attractive female bartenders that had supplied the alcohol. After taking a close look at the two of them, Valtaic decided that perhaps, just this once, he could remain in a social setting.  
That left Stafford and Wowryk standing near the stage at the edge of the dance floor and Jall off somewhere, probably getting laid. Wowryk sighed.  
"What's wrong, Noel?" Stafford asked, "You just hatched an egg! And it was a girl! Don't know what they're going to call it yet, but oh well. We'll find out. It's a happy day!"  
"I know," Wowryk said glumly, "It's just...I was having a good time enjoying the party on MY terms. Now...now I have to enjoy it on Mann's terms. And yes, I've noticed the irony."  
"At least now the news clip shows you handing the baby to Trish instead of breaking it in half," Stafford said, "By the way, what was with all that turning? Spinning the shell around?"  
Wowryk looked at him like he was an idiot.  
"It's bad enough I had to karate chop a baby," Wowryk said heatedly, "Can you imagine if that had been her head instead of her butt?"  
Stafford's eyes widened in realization.  
"Oh," he said softly.  
"Now I have to stay here and dance until Mann has his customers back," Wowryk went on, gesturing at a hovering camera, "I didn't even realize this event had corporate sponsorship!"  
"Every event does, honey," Jall said, abruptly returning, "But hey, I found something that might make things better,"  
Darik was following behind him. Behind him was Veeneman, giving her a sly smile.  
Wowryk started. She'd completely forgotten about the Matrian doctor. He'd seemed nice, and interesting. She'd been enjoying their talk, up until Mann and their misunderstanding ruined everything.  
But maybe this was another chance...  
Smiling, she reached out for his hand.  
"Care to dance?" she asked.  
"It would be an honour," Darik said, taking her hand and allowing himself to be led to the dance floor.  
Stafford's jaw was somewhere around his knees.  
"What-"  
"Shhh," Jall put his finger to Stafford's lips, "Don't worry about it."  
"Get your hand away from my face!" Stafford swatted at him, "You smell like...vodka and burning!"  
"Which means it's been a good night," Jall nodded, "So I'm going to go dance. You can either stay here and have fun, or go back to your office and pout,"  
Stafford looked undecided.  
"You're staying here, you moron! Jall snapped, "And take that stupid egg harness off if you ever hope to get laid!"  
"God, I need a drink," Stafford groaned, pulling the now-empty harness over his head.  
"Gotcha covered," Jal said gleefully, pulling a bottle out of the bag he still carried.  
Stafford looked over at the stage where Wowryk and Darik were now dancing away, Wowryk looked a bit shy but still quite happy. Jall had turned away from him and was starting to dance, no doubt looking for his next conquest. And the park was filling up again as the hovering cameras advertised the fact that it had been a childbirth, not a terrorist attack or mob war, that had stopped things before.  
With a shrug, Stafford opened the bottle and took a swig.  
Then he spit it out and decided he really needed to find some mix.

Haven had entered orbit halfway through the party, and so Yanick and T'Parief were able to bring the baby up to the home that they had so carefully chosen after the city had been launched. They'd taken a shuttle, rather than put the infant through a transporter at such a young age, and it was very, very dark when they arrived.  
The baby had fed and promptly fallen asleep. Yanick gently placed her in the cradle they'd put in one corner of their bedroom.  
"Allona," Yanick said "We should call her Allona. I was looking at names before and...well, it means strong. Unless there's a Gorn or Klingon name that works better."  
"Allona is acceptable," T'Parief nodded.  
Trish reached in to gently stroke the baby Allona's, head.  
"Hi, Allona," she smiled.  
They watched, the stars shining outside the city dome as she slept quietly.  
After a while, they too slept.


	6. 5 - Sweet Escapes

6.5 - 'Sweet Escapes'

Author's Note: This story takes place at roughly the same time as Halfway to Haven 1.4 - 'Hospitality'

"IT'S DOCTOR WOWRYK!"  
Dr. Noel Wowryk immediately flinched at the high-pitched, male Matrian voice. Walking next to her, Dr. Sem Darik started, looking around with confusion.  
"Oh no," Wowryk sighed.  
From one excited onlooker, they were suddenly surrounded by over a dozen Matrians, mostly male but some female. All of them wanting to congratulate her on the victory over the Qu'Eh, or ask her whether it was true that she'd been offered command of Haven.  
Among other things.  
"Dr. Wowryk," a perky looking brunette male was shoving a camera/microphone combination unit in her face, "Is it true that you're thinking about running for Queen in the next planetary election?"  
"Dr. Wowryk!" another shout, this one from the back, "Let me take you to dinner! I own the most amazing restaurant!"  
"It usually takes the press twice as long to find me," Wowryk muttered to Darik as she tried to evade the reporter with the camera.  
"Doctor, please!"  
"-just a moment of your time-"  
"-promise you-"  
"-most incredible lover on the planet-"  
"PLEASE!" Wowryk half pleaded, half shouted, "Please, I appreciate your good wishes, but I would just like to enjoy my evening in peace!"  
The Matrians started falling over each other with offers on how that might best be accomplished.  
Wowryk grabbed Darik by the hand and ran.

A few blocks later, they ducked into an alley. Breathing heavily, Wowryk eased an eye around the corner and watched until she was convinced that the cost was clear.  
"You are a woman of excitement" Darik said to her, smiling.  
"I've ruined our date," Wowryk wrung her hands, "I'm so sorry! We didn't even make it to the restaurant!"  
Darik took her hands in his, pressing them together.  
"The adventure was enough," he said, "Besides, I know a great little place not far from here, if you're still up to it?"  
Wowryk considered for a moment. She was still upset from the mob, but something about the way Darik was offering...something about the way he looked at her was just so...so...innocent. Perhaps because his eye didn't seem to make the unconscious, brief dip down to breast level that every man's eye seemed to make around her. Every man but Jall, that was.  
She frowned, suddenly worried at THAT comparison, then shook her head.  
"I'd love to," she said.

Halfway across the planet, Lt Comd San Jall rolled over and wished he was dead.  
"Ohhh..." he groaned, "My head is killing me."  
Birds were singing outside the open patio window near the bed. Sunlight poured in, and a soft breeze ruffled Jall's hair. It was, in short, an absolutely beautiful morning. If you weren't exhausted, half-drunk and completely hung over.  
There was a snort from the body next to his in the bed. Jall briefly considered this, then closed his eyes and begged to be unconscious.  
This repeated itself two or three times until, two hours later, he finally had to get out of bed to use the facilities. Realizing that perhaps getting out of this strange apartment would be a good idea, Jall quickly searched for, then began pulling on his cloths.  
The other body in the bed sat up with a groan, then turned to face him "Leaving so soon?" the slim but unusually tall Matrian asked.  
"Yeah, I'm late for work," Jall said, trying to keep his voice flat. His instincts were screaming at him to run, run, RUN! "I've heard that one before," the Matrian said, crossing his arms, "In fact, you said the same thing the last time you were here,"  
"The last...what?" Jall's jaw dropped with horror. Come to think of it, the Matrian WAS very familiar. And so was the room for that matter!  
"We...we hooked up at the Belted Baron last night, didn't we?" he asked.  
"Yeah. And about a month ago, too," the Matrian said, "I didn't really expect to see you again, but it was nice that you came back. Want breakfast?"  
"I...I have to be at work," Jall said. He frantically finished dressing and made a hasty escape.

"It's not funny, Trish!" he said angrily over the comm as he and Valtaic tinkered with the engines of their captured Qu'Eh vessel, "Statistically speaking, how could I have possibly hooked up with the same guy at the same bar twice in a row?"  
"Maybe because the first time was the most mind-blowing sex you've ever had?" Yanick suggested.  
"Um," Jall thought carefully, "I actually don't really remember either time. So probably not."  
"Well than maybe you just have feelings for him?"  
"Bite your tongue, missy!"  
"I-" Yanick broke off suddenly, "Oops, I gotta go. Allona needs changing, and I'm not letting T'Parief do that until he gets his talons trimmed!"  
"Yeah, OK, bye," Jall grunted as the comm cut off.  
He leaned over the engineering console, wishing that the pounding in his head would just stop.  
"You seem to be getting the hang of this meaningless sex business," he said to Valtaic, "What do you think?"  
"Sex is never meaningless," Valtaic said flatly, "The question is whether the meaning you seek is deep, emotional connection, reproduction, or physical pleasure."  
"I think one of us is missing the point," Jall grumbled.  
"Yes," Valtaic nodded, "One of us is."  
Jall contemplated this, at least until another wave of nausea washed over him. He turned back to his console.  
"Let's just get the inertial dampeners working, OK?"

"Sylvia! Oy, Sylvia!"  
Sylvia halted her holographic avatar, carefully stepping to the side to avoid the non-existent stream of traffic in the corridor.  
Lt Comd Simon Jeffery caught up with her. He looked at her for a moment, grinned, then gestured out the corridor window into the shipyard.  
"Work's comin' along, huh?"  
"Simon," she greeted him warmly, "I was hoping to see you. Fifebee and I have been having some trouble with her holo-relay. I was-"  
"Probably just a bit overloaded," Jeffery said thoughtfully, cutting her off, "It's not meant to project two holograms. I mean, the last firmware update helped, but-"  
"Simon, we're holograms. We understand the problem," this time it was Sylvia that cut him off, "I was hoping one of your engineers could install a few emitters in our workshop. Maybe around the shipyard? There's a freshly baked apple pie in it for them..."  
"Oh," Simon thought for a moment, then shrugged, "Aye. Don't see why not,"  
"Good. Thank you!" Sylvia turned to leave.  
"Wait," Jeffery moved after her, "Sylvia, we're missin' another ten tonnes of duranium. Do ye know anything about that?"  
Sylvia frowned.  
"That's really not my area, Simon," she replied. She turned down a short corridor that led from the shipyard to one of the smaller workshops, "It probably went missing when the city blasted out of orbit a few weeks ago,"  
"Ah guess," Jeffery didn't look convinced.  
They reached the entrance to the workshop. Sylvia stopped, then turned to look expectantly at Jeffery.  
"Whot?"  
"Simon, we agreed that I will stay out of the 3CC unless you invite me there, and you will stay out of my workspace. Fifebee and I are at a...sensitive point in our project."  
"But what's this project?" Jeffery peered over her shoulder, as if doing so would allow him to see through the solid doors.  
"Just wait!" Sylvia laughed, pushing him gently away, "You'll find out soon enough!"  
"But I-"  
"Simon!"  
They both turned to see Major Dekaire, the blond, Nordic-featured and somewhat muscular Matrian shipbuilder. She gave Sylvia a sort of appraising look, then turned to Jeffery.  
"Simon, the girls and I are beaming down to the planet for marinated tentacle night at Stacked," Dekaire said.  
"Ah, oh," Jeffery looked surprised, "Is this a...a double date, bring the boys sort of thing? Cuz I don't know how Ah feel about all the half-naked waiters there..."  
Not it was Dekaire that looked uncomfortable.  
"Well, no," she said, "But it means I'll be late for our...meeting...tonight,"  
"Oh," Jeffery said, "But-"  
"See ya later, sweet thing," Dekaire gave him a peck on the cheek, then walked away.  
Sylvia raised an eyebrow.  
"I hate marinated seafood anyway," Jeffery grumbled, turning away.  
"Simon..."  
"Don't want to talk about it," Jeffery waved her away.  
"But-"  
"It's fine. Ah know what it is," he called over his shoulder.  
Sylvia watched him leave, then turned back into the lab.

Captain's Personal Log, Stardate 59390.4L

"It's been just over a week since Yanick and T'Parief hatched their daughter. And since two groups of Starfleet officers tried to stun and immolate each other. So far that little tidbit hasn't managed to make it back to Admiral Tunney, and I hope to be somewhere in another galaxy if it ever does."  
"Following the birth and the return of Haven to Matria Prime, my senior staff has for the most part gone their separate ways. Jall and Valtaic are still working on the Qu'Eh wreck, Wowryk is arms deep in Qu'Eh implant technology, Jeffery is up in the shipyard working on, well, the ship. And Fifebee and Sylvia have buried themselves in some sort of secret project that they want to keep a surprise."  
"As the social butterfly of our group, I've tasked Lt Yanick with coming up with a way for us to keep in touch. We may be scattered to the winds now, but when it's time to leave, we're leaving together. Not sure what she has in mind though."  
"Wait, how did that 'L' get into today's stardate?"

BEEP!  
Captain Christopher Stafford looked up from his desk and his third form of the day. The first two had been nasty, twelve page affairs, making this seven page form seem like child's play in comparison. His comm-panel, a nice little touch compared to the more limited comm-badge, popped up with Yanick's name.  
"Chris? Why aren't you on Haven yet?" Yanick's voice came from the speaker.  
Stafford frowned and pressed the 'accept comm' button.  
"Should I be?" he asked.  
"Uh, yeah. Steven is having opening night at the Shipyard Steakhouse. You wanted the senior staff to stay in touch, so I booked us a table,"  
As she spoke, Stafford became aware of an odd sound. Almost...squishy?  
"I never got the message," he said flatly.  
"I'm sure I sent it to your messaging system," he could practically hear the frown in her voice, while also realizing the weird noise was coming over the open channel, "But you know, I haven't been sleeping well lately. Maybe I forgot,"  
"I'll beam up shortly," Stafford said, "Meet me there?"  
"Sure-YEOW!" Yanick exclaimed.  
"What!?" Stafford jumped to his feet, "Trish! What's wr-"  
"It's OK," Yanick cut him off, "It's Allona. Wow. She doesn't have teeth yet, but what a grip in those little hands!"  
"She takes after her father," T'Parief's voice almost purred over the channel.  
"Except her father doesn't PINCH!"  
"Wait," Stafford sat back down abruptly, "You're not...are you breast-feeding right now?"  
"Better now than at the restaurant," Yanick sounded like she was shrugging. A sudden high pitched cry of protest followed by a quick apology and the resumption of the sounds confirmed that yes, she had shrugged. And said shrug had...uh...deprived the baby of her food source.  
Stafford rubbed his temples.  
"Ohhh, it's going to be a long time before I can get that image out of my head," he groaned.  
"The sooner, the better," T'Parief growled.  
"See you at the restaurant," Stafford said, hitting the cut-off button.

Jall and Valtaic materialized about ten minutes ahead of Stafford. With most of Haven still being off-limits or unmanned, they hadn't been able to get permission to use one of the five empty shipyards to work on the Qu'Eh ship. Well, they probably could have, if Stafford had made a fuss. But Jall preferred having a bit of space from the higher ranks, so instead the ship had been parked in an orbit within transporter range of the city.  
"-can't wait until the Matrians finish repairing their transporter relay satellites," Jall was saying as Stafford materialized on the pad, "That's going to make getting around a lot faster,"  
"As opposed to the near-instant travel we currently enjoy?" Valtaic asked calmly.  
"We do, the average Matrian doesn't," Jall replied, "We have access to Haven, they don't. Plus Starfleet and the Matrian Defence Force have high-priority on all the planetary transport systems,"  
"I didn't realize you cared so much about the average Matrian," Stafford said pleasantly. It was so rare that Jall said something honestly nice that he figured he better encourage him while he had the chance.  
"I care when it means my evening 'companion' is half an hour late," Jall shrugged.  
Never mind that honestly nice stuff. Just forget it was even said.  
Stafford managed to keep the smile on his face, but it became somewhat forced.  
"Where are Yanick and T'Parief?" he asked.  
"They're going to meet us at the restaurant," Jall said, "And we're meeting Wowryk, Fifebee and Sylvia at the tram station,"  
"Lead the way," Stafford said, gesturing with one arm.  
"Fuck that, I don't know where I'm going," Jall shrugged.  
"Why did I want to stay in contact with everybody again?" Stafford pinched his nose as he led the way out of the transporter room.  
"I'm just that lovable," Jall quipped. Valtaic said nothing.  
As the Starfleet officers walked out, the Matrian transporter operator just stared. These were the people who had saved her planet?

"Wow," Wowryk said, raising an eyebrow as she looked out the front window of the tram. The only active transporter complex was naturally on the opposite side of Haven as Shipyard Three, necessitating a tram ride either halfway round the city or, in this case, directly across. The last time they'd seen the city it had been flush with greenery. Trees had lined the streets, plants had spilled over the balconies and terraces of the towers and lush, grassy parks had dotted the landscape. All that greenery had been dormant during the city's slumber, but a series of landscaping bots had activated along with it, bringing everything to life.  
Now winter had fallen. The lake was starting to ice over, the leaves had dropped from the trees, the various greenery had vanished and every surface was covered with a blanket of snow.  
"Wow indeed," Valtiac observed.  
"You guys can 'wow' all you like," Yanick said grumpily, "But now I can't take Allona outside. That was the best way to get her to sleep; a walk outside."  
The tram rushed into a tunnel, barely slowing in the Transit Hub at it stuck to the express track.  
"Speaking of, who's watching the little guy? Um, girl?" Stafford asked as the tram slipped into another tunnel.  
"Lt Rengs and his wife," T'Parief replied.  
"You trust your subordinates with your child?" Wowryk raised an eyebrow.  
"I trust Maris," Yanick said, "She's already had one,"  
"And I trust in Rengs' fear of me," T'Parief added.  
"Logical," Valtaic nodded. He returned his attention to the snow covered city as the tram exited the tunnel.  
"Yet disturbing," Stafford finished.

They arrived at the restaurant, using a secret knock based on Silverado's registration number to actually get access. Very few businesses had been formally authorized on the city so far, but being part of Silverado's crew had its perks, for once.  
"Officially, Colonel Abela doesn't know about this place," Steven told them as he led them to a table overlooking the shipyard below, "Of course, we OK'd everything with her a while back. But we pretend she doesn't know, and she pretends she doesn't know, and everybody's happy,"  
Nobody was really paying attention to him though. They were too busy staring outside the restaurant into the shipyard.  
"My ship!" Stafford whimpered.  
"Wow again," Wowyk lifted her eyebrow again as she sat at the table.  
There might have been a ship in there. It was hard to tell. All they could really see was a cloud of parts drifting in the micro-gravity environment of the shipyard. Most of the parts seemed to be hull plates, but there were enough other parts to lead Valtaic to suspect that the shipyard construction bots had finished dismantling the hull and had moved deeper into the ship.  
"Quite the sight, eh?" Jeffery said as he joined them. "My ship!" Stafford whimpered again.  
"Maybe we should have warned him," Sylvia said to Jeffery as she took a seat at the table.  
"Aye, Ah forgot how sentimental he can be,"  
"My ship!"  
"Chris, sit down," Sylvia said firmly, "I will be...I mean, your ship will be good as new,"  
Slowly Stafford sat.  
"I don't know if I can eat after seeing that," he said, his eyes still on the window.  
"It's a matter of willpower," Jeffery said, sounding a bit cocky, "Ye just put it out of you mind,"  
"Is that not that Captain Simplot?" Fifebee pointed at a somewhat sluttily-dressed woman walking in with a broad, muscular man that looked like he'd just come from the gym. Or a steroid injection facility.  
Jeffery ducked his head, trying to avoid being seen.  
"Don't let her know Ah'm here!" he whispered.  
"Relax," Yanick assured him, carefully looking at Simplot without actually looking at her, "I think she's as eager to not see us as we are to not see her,"  
"It's just a matter of willpower," Stafford said smugly, giving Jeffery a mild kick under the table.  
"So you will pretend not to see her, though you do," Valtaic looked very confused, "And she will pretend not to see us, although she does?"  
"Yup," Yanick nodded.  
"Just as Colonel Abela pretends this illegal restaurant doesn't exist, although she knows it does," Valtaic continued.  
"Yup,"  
"And we pretend we do not know that she knows. And she presumably pretends not to know that we are pretending not to know that she does not know?"  
"Exactly!"  
Valtiac just shook his head. Humans.  
Stafford was back to staring out the window when Samantha came by to take their orders.  
"Just please," Jall was saying, "Tell me there's nothing Matrian on your wine list. I'm sick of that green crap of theirs,"  
"I have a replicated Australian shiraz," Samantha said, "Uhhh...I can't remember the name or year,"  
"Sold," Jall said, tossing the wine list aside, "And I'll take the gratlik. Rare,"  
"Trill food?" Yanick wrinkled her nose.  
"Yeah," Jall shrugged, "I usually can't stand the stuff, but after eating mostly Matrian for...how long has it been? Eight months?"  
"I don't even know," Yanick frowned, "It feels like forever. And I'll have the chicken Caesar salad. And a huge, huge...heck, just bring me a bucked of wine,"  
"And another to puke it into?" Samantha asked.  
"Hey, I'm not pregnant anymore, I need to catch up!"  
"You were never technically pregnant," Wowryk pointed out.  
"Are you trying to say I was fat?"  
"I...no. What?"  
"Steak," Stafford said, not wanting to sit through THAT argument again.  
"What kind? This is a steakhouse now, hon," Samantha said, "We've got about thirty-six species programmed in that humans can enjoy. Another twenty that are...well, non-toxic at least. And a D'Ceti sea cow flank that will have you tripping balls for about a week,"  
"New York peppercorn? Medium."  
"Sure. Do you want the baked potato or the Patrian baked grub?"  
"God, like you have to ask?"  
"Ah motion we never to go a place called 'Patria'," Jeffery added to the conversation, "I've had enough of Matria to last a lifetime,"  
"Seconded," Wowryk said immediately.  
Valtiac ordered the D'Ceti sea cow flank. Samantha tried to decide if he was joking or not, then just moved on down the table.  
"Find something living, kill it, then throw it on the grill," T'Parief didn't even look at the menu.  
"The Matrians won't let us bring up any livestock," Samantha was starting to look a bit exasperated.  
"How do you like working at a nice restaurant instead of a ship lounge?" Fifebee asked, somewhat randomly.  
"Hey, I LIKED Unbalanced Equations!" Yanick objected.  
"I've got to have a lot more patience with the customers in a place like this," Samantha said, hands on hips, "Let's leave it at that, OK?"  
After a few more moments of back-and-forth over the menu, she left with their orders. A few moments later, a Matrian male dropped off three bottles of replicated Earth wine.  
"We've got a great purple wine that's made in the southern hemisphere" he offered as he clumsily uncorked the bottles.  
"Thanks, I've tried it," Stafford said, "I always thought explosive diarrhoea was a myth until that night,"  
"From the left, dear," Sylvia said as the Matrian tried to set a basket of bread over Yanick's right shoulder, "One serves from the left,"  
"Sorry," the Matrian smiled, "I'm still learning Earth customs. And there are so many other species to keep track of! Did you know that if I open the bottle for a Romulan, I must either take the first drink or be arrested as an assassin!"  
"Hopefully we won't see any more Romulans out here," Jeffery said.  
"Oh, I want to meet ALL the races in the Federation!" the waiter said energetically, "Can you imagine? Hundreds of races! Thousands of light-years of territory! As soon as they get the emigration agreements and passenger lines in place, I'm leaving!"  
He finished pouring their wine, then left.  
Everybody at the table was quiet for a long moment, Stafford still watching the slow spin of thousands of ship parts. The occasional construction bot could be seen, carrying various components away from the half-dismantled ship.  
"I think that's the part that's hitting me the hardest," Jall said quietly, "The Matrians are finally realizing there's a whole other universe outside their little corner of it. Their old empire, the Qu'Eh...they're really nothing in the big picture."  
"Nobody is nothing," Sylvia said immediately.  
"You know what I mean,"  
The lights flickered for a moment, an odd sound running through the restaurant.  
"Don't worry," Jeffery said, "Probably just a capacitor bank for the industrial replicator. We're hittin' it pretty hard."  
"Lots of things to replace?" Stafford took a long sip of his wine.  
"Chris, Ah'm findin' problems that, frankly, we'd never have found without tearin' the old girl apart," Jeffery said, "Some of the structural integrity field waveguides were so twisted, it's a wonder we didn't break apart every time we went into warp,"  
"Oh,"  
They discussed their respective work for a while. Jall and Valtiac had repaired the warp drive on the captured Qu'Eh vessel and were ready to start conducting tests. Wowryk had just replicated a Qu'Eh implant removal device from specifications found in the ship's computer. The device was far less painful than the Starfleet Medical Borg Implant Removal Devices they had used. (The SM-BIRDs had been nicknamed S&M Birds by the unfortunate Qu'Eh victims who had been subject to them.) Stafford and Yanick were still advising the Matrian Council and crunching through paperwork for Admiral Tunney, although Yanick was spending a lot of time up on the city now. T'Parief had become suddenly less concerned about security for Stafford and more concerned about security aboard Haven. For the shipyard, he tried to claim. Of course Stafford knew it was his precious baby daughter the big lizard was worried about. But since he'd wanted T'Parief guarding the shipyard to begin with (as opposed to following him around the planet), he'd been happy to send him up there. The Hazardous Team had been harder to get rid of, but he finally convinced them to go help the Matrians searching the now-abandoned Qu'Eh buildings and installations for booby-traps and other dangers before they were dismantled. Jeffery, of course, let loose a string of techno-babble about the ship reconstruction that the rest of them at least half understood, but really only boiled down to 'We have a lot of work left to do, and it's taking longer than we thought'. Halfway through the discussion their meals arrived. Everybody looked expectantly at Valtaic as he began eating a strange cut of light pink meat. Noticing their glances, he informed them that D'Ceti sea cow toxins were an aphrodisiac to his species, not a hallucinogenic. And that he had another date with the two bartenders Jall had 'introduced' him to shortly before setting half the Hazardous Team on fire.  
Jall attempted to high-five him, however Valtaic declined.  
Only Fifebee and Sylvia weren't eager to volunteer any information on what they were currently working on.  
"Chris, we finished the reconstruction work on the runabouts and the shuttles," Sylvia said, after Stafford asked for the third time, "Jeffery will tell you that it went really well."  
"And gave him much information that is allowing him to fine-tune the bots working on Silverado," Fifebee added.  
"It's true," Jeffery admitted.  
"But why can't you just tell us what you're doing now?" Stafford asked.  
"We just have a few problems we need to sort out," Fifebee said, "Once we are certain what we are planning will work, we will happily give a full briefing,"  
"Well, ok," Stafford said, finishing off his steak, "Ugh, I never thought I'd be so happy to have even replicated steak,"  
"Well, get used to it," Wowryk said primly, "We have what, several months before we can leave this system? Jeffery?"  
"Hmmph?" Jeffery asked through a mouthful of roast grouse. He swallowed, "Months, at least,"  
"I can't take months on this planet," Stafford, Jall and Wowryk all said in perfect unison.  
They stared at each other for a moment.  
"It's already been months," Yanick said, picking at her vegetables, "Hmm. I'm going to have to nag Allona to eat her vegetables, aren't I?'  
"She will eat the flesh of her prey," T'Parief grumbled. Whatever it was that Steven or his cooks had prepared for him, it had vanished in two bites.  
"Yeah, whatever, hon," Yanick said, "But with a side of veggies,"  
"If Counselor Yvonnokoff were here," Jall started.  
"OH SHIT!" Yanick cursed, "I totally forgot to invite her!"  
"Whatever," Stafford muttered.  
"Next time," Jall waved her away, "But I'm pretty sure she'd tell us that Starfleet officers who spent years on a ship exploring,"  
"Or crashing on time-shifted planets," Fifebee interrupted.  
"That was still exploring," Jall shot her a look, "The point is...we haven't been anywhere new in something like a year. I've been to twelve metropolises, fifty-two cities, two hundred night clubs, three hundred restaurants, eight sex clubs and two fetish dungeons,"  
"You could have left those out," Stafford said.  
"No, I'll give you the addresses," Jall said, "You need to loosen up,"  
"I'm loose!" Stafford objected.  
Yanick giggled.  
"OK, let's shelve that for now," Jall said, "The point is, we need to GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE AND EXPLORE SOMETHING NEW!"  
He downed the last of his wine and slammed the wine glass down on the table.  
They all looked at Stafford.  
"What? You think I can just magically get us a new ship and a new mission?" Stafford asked.  
"Try something," Wowryk said, "I...I can't take being famous anymore. I don't even want to go back down to the planet at this point,"  
"What about that nice doctor?" Yanick asked.  
"We had dinner last night," she admitted, "It was...nice."  
"Did ye-"  
"Mr. Jeffry," Fifebee grabbed his wrist, "You are approaching what some might call the 'Danger Zone'."  
"Oh. Aye."  
"Besides you have Major Dekaire to...service," Fifebee added, "Dr. Wowryk's romantic encounters should no longer be your concern."  
"Service?" Stafford asked.  
"Well, I'm not human," Fifebee shrugged, "But they certainly don't seem to be dating. He...does as she wishes."  
"Sounds like his last relationship," Stafford cracked, taking a swig of wine. Both Wowryk and Jeffery glared at him, "Sorry,"  
"Tunney must have SOMETHING that needs doing around here," Jall said, "I mean, I know there are other ships nearby. Maybe they need...advisers? Specialists?"  
"I'll look into it, OK?" Stafford promised, "Now look, can we...can we just go somewhere I don't have to stare at the gutted ruin of my ship?"  
"We have ice cream at our place," Yanick said, "But we'd need to program the replicator for cake,"  
"Hold on," Sylvia's eyes flickered for a moment. "Done. Shall we?"  
"What kind of cake?" Stafford asked.  
"Red velvet," Sylvia replied.  
"And it is no lie," Fifebee added.  
Stafford rose immediately.  
"Then yes, we shall,"

They were walking towards the tram station when Sylvia pulled Stafford and Jall back.  
"I didn't want to mention it in front of everybody," she said, "Although Fifebee nearly did, with her typical lack of subtlety,"  
"One of my favourite things about her," Jall shrugged.  
"But I'm worried about Simon," Sylvia went on, "This thing with Major Dekaire...Chris, you're right. It's just like his last relationship. It's like he hasn't learned anything for the past few years! He's letting yet another woman walk on him like he's a...a...turbolift carpet!"  
"Door mat," Stafford corrected absently, "Look, Sylvia, I've known the guy a lot longer than you. He's always been attracted to aggressive women. Back on the Academy...well, I never did walk in to find him strapped to a St. Andrew's Cross or an Andorian heating coil with some leather-clad dominatrix doing unspeakable things to him. But I always sort of expected it."  
"Bullshit," Jall said, "You poked and needled in his relationship with Wowryk as much as anybody else did. There's no way you can tell me now that you knew he-"  
"Wowryk was different," Stafford shook his head, "Will you just pull your mind off the sex for a minute? I shouldn't have mentioned it."  
"But you did. And now I'm going to have to find myself a little bondage playmate for the night,"  
Stafford decided he didn't want to pursue the topic and risk finding out whether or not Jall was joking.  
"The point is, he's always been attracted to stronger women," he said instead, "Wowryk was just...a lot stronger than most. I can't see how this Dekaire woman can possibly compare. And he still hasn't told any of us whether anything happened with that Carly woman,"  
They had entered the tram station. The nearest track was empty, however the far track had one of Haven's ubiquitous multi-car trams parked at the platform. The overhead display screen informed them (in Matrian and Standard) that this tram was an express tram to the other end of the city, with stops at only the transit hub and two transfer stations in the city proper.  
"I'm still concerned," Sylvia said quietly as they climbed the steps to the walkway leading to the far track, "I think he needs a little more support from his friends," She put a certain stress on the last word.  
"Our AIs are just so subtle," Jall said to Stafford as Sylvia gave him an annoyed look, "Don't you think they're subtle? I think they're subtle!"  
"Jall!" Sylvia sounded like she was on the verge of becoming truly upset, a rarity for the artificial woman. (Though not so rare for the real woman her programming had been modelled after.)  
"Fine," Jall sighed.  
As they approached the tram, Wowryk headed towards the front car, Yanick and T'Parief towards the second car. Before anybody could really realize what was happening, Jall had managed to position himself to guide most of the other officers into the second car.  
"Not you," he said to Jeffery, giving him a firm shove into the first car.  
"Whot-" Jeffery objected.  
"Enjoy," Jall said, stepping into the second car as the doors hissed shut. He looked around at the Silverado officers, minus Wowryk and Jeffery. They were staring at him with a mix of confusion, curiosity, or (in Valtaic's case) complete lack of interest.  
"What?" Jall shrugged, "Who better to give him a little encouragement and support?"  
"Anybody?" Stafford asked, pinching the bridge of his nose yet again as the tram eased into motion.  
"San," Sylvia crossed her arms, "You're either a brilliant judge of character...or an absolute moron,"

In the forward car, Wowryk and Jeffery were looking at each other with matching expressions of surprise.  
"Why do ye suppose that git went and did that?" Jeffery wondered.  
"More importantly, why did they all cram into one car?" Wowryk frowned, "That can't be comfortable. I had thought Trish would want to join me here. She always enjoys sitting in the front seat,"  
"Ah've always thought the Old Matrians should have used bigger trams on this thing. Like, subway train sized," Jeffery chattered nervously. The tram had glided to a stop at a station just long enough for the doors to ease open, then close. "Ah mean, Ah get what they were tryin' to do. Ninety small trams going to ninety different but specific destinations, as opposed to nine trains that each have to stop in ten places. But still, Ah think the efficiency rating would be-"  
"Simon," Wowryk cut him off as they continued their speedy trip down the track, "It's obvious that they think we need to talk," she gestured at the car behind them, "And that this childish idea of stuffing us in the same car was the best they could come up with. But I don't think we have anything to talk about. Do you?"  
"Nay, of course not," Jeffery said automatically. Although really, he agreed. They'd both moved on, especially after he'd taken Carly for dinner.  
They looked around, surprised, as the tram began to slow. It had passed a cluster of buildings as it approached one of the bridges leading over the central lake. It continued gliding for a few seconds before coming to a stop about a third of the way across the bridge.  
"Oh, now that's mature," Wowryk crossed her arms.  
"Whot?"  
"They're listening to us!" she snapped, "They heard us say we're not going to talk, so now they've gone and stopped the tram until we actually talk! Well it's not going to happen!"

One car back, Stafford was pushing T'Parief's tail out of his face.  
"Maybe all of us cramming into one car was a bad idea," he said, turning in his seat to avoid the tail.  
"Hey, you wanted those two talking," Jall held up his hands, "Now they can talk,"  
"Once again, we suffer due to human foolishness," Valtaic complained.  
"And you're the one whining about it, so what does that say about you?" Yanick asked cattily.  
Valtaic's eyes widened, then he closed his mouth.  
"Why didn't we just set this thing to take us non-stop to the other side?" T'Parief asked.  
"Because other people use the system too," Sylvia said, "Somebody got on at the last station,"  
"Great. Now why are we stopped in the middle of the track?" Stafford asked.  
"I don't...what?"  
They followed Sylvia's gaze and saw a man in a Starfleet uniform run past them, paying little attention to the blowing snow.  
"I guess he's going somewhere important," Sylvia shrugged.  
"Wait...what was he wearing?" Jall asked suddenly.  
"Oh for..." Stafford let his head thunk against the headrest, "This isn't the time for fashion!"

"I am most certainly getting very sick of this meddling in my personal life," Wowryk fumed as Jeffery poked half-heartedly at the door controls, "So I'm dating a man. OK, it's the first man I've seriously dated since...well, since you, I suppose. But that's no reason to meddle, and certainly no reason to get my ex involved!"  
"Hey, Ah'm dating somebody new too," Jeffery mumbled.  
"Exactly!" Wowryk nodded, "We're moving on,"  
"Um..." Jeffery was now looking past her. Ahead of them, on the track, he could see two women blocking the track, weapons drawn. Colonel Abela and Captain Simplot? A man in a Starfleet uniform was facing them. And was that...was he wearing a suicide vest?  
"Noel, Ah think we have a problem!" he gulped.  
"What? Why?" Wowryk demanded, "Do you think we haven't moved on?"  
"Nay, it's-"  
"Because we ended things quite badly, after all," Wowryk went on, "We barely spoke for months. But we both have changed since then. We have managed to become friends, haven't we?"  
"Aye, but-"  
"But what?" Wowryk crossed her arms, "Simon, I have made my wishes clear. I...I respect you. I care for you. But I don't...I don't think I love you. You will always be special to me. But it's time we put our efforts into dating other people,"  
Jeffery watched in amazed horror as the scene outside the tram played out. A lone figure in what appeared to be a loincloth swung down from the upper bridge supports, snatching the man with the suicide vest and tossing him into the lake.  
"GET DOWN!" Jeffery cried, jumping at Wowryk and pushing her to the floor.  
Wowryk shouted in surprise.  
"Get off me you...you...PERVERT!"  
And with that, she socked Jeffery right in the eye, sending him sprawling to the floor of the tram.  
Outside, there was a muffled BOOOOOMMMM!. Wowryk's gaze shifted out the tram window just in time to see the nearly naked Matrian fly back through the air, sparkling as he was seized by a transporter beam. Then a wall of water crashed over the bridge, shaking the tram like a leaf in a hurricane.  
"Oh," Wowryk carefully released her left hand, which had seized the front of Jeffery's tunic, "Ooops,"  
Jeffery just groaned.

Stafford was staring out the window.  
"You guys just saw a dude in a loincloth swinging off the bridge, right?" he asked slowly.  
"Nope. You've gone insane," Jall said cheerfully.  
They clutched the various handholds as the tram was thrown around in the frigid waves of water.  
There was silence for a moment.  
"Do you think we should go up to the command center and help?" Yanick asked after a moment.  
"Nope," Stafford said, "I'm sure...well, fairly sure anyway, that Abela and Simplot can handle this one."  
"Not our circus," Jall agreed, "Not our monkeys,"  
"But I still think I'll skip the cake and beam back down to the planet," Stafford finished.  
They all exchanged glances.  
"Just let me get Allona," Yanick said, "I think we'll spend the night at our apartment in Matronus,"  
"Actually, bring the cake," Stafford told Sylvia.  
"Yes sir!" she shot him a mock salute.

"I am so, so, sorry," Wowryk said for about the tenth time as she ran a dermal regenerator over Jeffery's black eye, "It was just a reflex,"  
"Ah try to save yer life, and ye pop me one," Jeffery grumbled. Also, for the tenth time.  
"Stow it, both of you," Stafford grumbled. They had all gathered in his condo down on the planet and had quickly sliced into the promised cake; a nicely done triple-layer affair with chocolate frosting and eight cherries, each atop a small dollop of whipped cream and spaced carefully around the outer edge. Only Valtaic was missing, having moved on to his evening...companionship.  
"Nothing like a suicide bomber to make the evening interesting," Jall quipped.  
"I did have a quick chat with the CMO up on the station," Wowryk said, still sounding embarrassed, "It was their Yynsian. Past-life problems. He's fine now though."  
"Isn't that a doctor-patient confidentiality thing?" Stafford asked.  
"Not when it results in an explosion." Wowryk shrugged.  
"Ah,"  
"Hey," Yanick slapped at T'Parief's fingers as he reached for a slice of cake, "No. I brought some blood-pie for you,"  
"But-" T'Parief objected.  
"Oh yeah," Stafford looked up, "I forgot about his chocolate thing. Sorry."  
T'Parief gave the cake one last, somewhat longing glance as he accepted the slice of pie Yanick was holding out.  
"Last thing I need is the father of my child getting re-addicted to a narcotic," Yanick grumbled.  
"Chocolate affects him like a narcotic," Jall looked thoughtful, "Any chance vanilla affects him like a sedative?"  
"Aphrodisiac," Yanick said, "But he hates vanilla!"  
"Strawberry?"  
"Hallucinogenic," this time it was Wowryk that piped up, "I did a complete neuro-chemical analysis on him after the chocolate incident."  
"For the love of God," Stafford looked horrified, "Keep him away from the Neapolitan ice cream,"  
"Well OBVIOUSLY!" Yanick rolled her eyes.  
T'Parief grunted as he took the pie and retreated into the dining room.  
"So Chris," Sylvia asked, sitting in a rather comfortable chair that was somewhat wasted on a hologram, "What do you think the chances are that you could actually convince Admiral Tunney to give us another ship?"  
"Hmm? Oh, between zero and none," Stafford sighed, "After all, we've got our own in Shipyard Three right now."  
"There are other ships in the area" Wowryk said thoughtfully, "Surely we can be of use there,"  
"Hold on," Jall cut in, "Those ships are just patrolling the Matrian border. Working there isn't going to do us any good. In fact, it's worse! I may have been to almost every decent bar on this planet, but at least I can go when I want!"  
Wowryk gave him a look of disdain.  
"Look, I said I'll talk to him," Stafford sighed, "Maybe that will do you guys some good. But he's not going to let me go ANYWHERE until I get this mountain of paperwork finished. And that's going to take me about-"  
"Four months, two weeks, three days, eight hours, twenty minutes and thirty-two seconds," Fifebee cut in immediately.  
"Please, somebody just kill me," Stafford groaned.  
"Oh, I forgot," Sylvia said. She fell silent, her eyes staring out into space as streams of ghostly data flickered across her irises. Even her breathing seemed to stop.  
Everybody but Jall looked at her. Jall had pulled out his padd and was reading a message from one of his...playmates.  
"Why, would you kill him?" Yanick finally asked Sylvia.  
"Did she crash or something?" Jeffery wondered, turning to the holo-relay.  
"Don't touch that!" Fifebee snapped, "It's been glitchy enough, trying to run both of us!"  
"Oy," Jeffery looked offended.  
"One moment," Sylvia's voice, when she finally spoke, was decidedly cool and robotic. It was the tone of voice she used when the bulk of her processing power was focused on other things.  
After another moment, her eyes re-focused and her appearance resumed its usual animation.  
"OK, it's done. Sorry, I've been meaning to do that for a while, but it wound up at the bottom of my processing queue," she shrugged.  
"What's done?" Stafford asked.  
"All your paperwork. Just don't send it off all at once, or Tunney will get suspicious,"  
Stafford's eyes bugged out of his head.  
"It's done?" he almost whispered, "You mean...I don't have to spend twelve hours a day staring at a screen, copying numbers like some mindless drone?"  
"You're welcome," Sylvia smiled.  
"Wait," Stafford frowned, "Why the HELL didn't you do this for me a MONTH ago? DO YOU KNOW HOW I'VE SUFFERED?"  
"It was good for you, dear," Sylvia huffed, "Besides, I've been...busy. I have a lot of work to do too you know, my life doesn't revolve around you!"  
"But...but..." Stafford gulped.  
"Eat your cake," Yanick said, handing him a plate.  
Stafford stared at Sylvia for another few moments. Then, reluctantly, he shut up and ate his cake.

Two days later, Wowryk was relaxing in a noodle shop in the east side of downtown Matronus when Jeffery abruptly dropped into the seat next to her.  
"Ah didn't think Ah'd see ye, Doctor," he said, "And Ah almost didn't even recognize ye!"  
Indeed, Wowryk was wearing a form-hiding sweater, tinted glasses and had her hair up in a very un-Wowryk style.  
"Simon! Don't use my name!" Wowryk hissed, looking around frantically.  
"Whot?"  
"I'm hard to find for a reason!" she said, speaking firmly but quietly, "I keep getting mobbed when I go out in public!"  
"Oh,"  
"What brings you here, Simon?" Wowryk asked, "Were you looking for me?"  
"Actually, ye told me this place was amazing. So Ah thought I'd bring Mira here. Do ye mind if we join ye?  
Wowryk contemplated the idea of playing third wheel to Simon and his new lady and quickly came to the conclusion that no, thanks, that wasn't exactly her idea of a good time.  
"Actually-" "Ah, Simon, there you are," Major Dekaire appeared at the one end of the table with two bowls of noodles in broth, "Here, try the squid noodle surprise,"  
"Aye, thank ye," Jeffery took one bowl along with a deep spoon.  
"Doctor, pleasure to finally meet you one-on-one," Dekaire said as she sat at the table.  
Wowryk look from Jeffery to Dekaire. Her plan for a private, peaceful meal had clearly crashed and burned.  
But what an interesting opportunity this was, she suddenly realized. She didn't really know anything about the new woman in Jeffery's life...any more than Jeffery knew about Darick. And if her crewmates were worried that she and Jeffery were...well, she didn't really know WHAT the heck they were worried about. She and Jeffery were done, they were friends, and what better way to demonstrate that then by a polite, courteous discourse with Jeffery's new lady-friend?  
"The pleasure is mine," Wowryk said, hoping her smile looked genuine.  
"Where's...uh...Dark?" Jeffery asked, starting to fish around with his noodles.  
"You mean Darik?" Wowryk corrected, "He's on shift this evening,"  
"That's one thing I love about running my own shipyard," Dekaire said, popping what might have been a small shrimp in her mouth, "Regular working hours,"  
"How many shipyards have you worked in?" Wowryk asked.  
"Two," Dekaire was giving Wowryk an odd look, "Well, that I remember. I was a shipbuilder in the Gender Wars, but that was centuries ago. In Dreamland I designed marine pleasure craft,"  
"Really? Ah didn't know that," Jeffery piped up, trying to get in on the conversation.  
"Didn't think you'd care," Dekaire shrugged, "Watercraft really don't have anything to do with starships,"  
"Aye, but-"  
"Anyway, after the Reawakening I was basically drafted," Dekaire went on, "I started with restoration work in the Matria Prime orbital shipyards. And when they wanted a master shipbuilder for the Silverado project, well. Not to brag, but I am the best,"  
"Fascinating," Wowryk had a look of polite interest on her face, "It certainly seems like you've worked your way up,"  
Dekaire gave Jeffery a look that seemed a bit too much like the one she'd given Wowryk a few moments ago.  
"Simon, could you go get some akiki? Thanks." Wowryk blinked. She almost said something, but Jeffery just smiled and left the table.  
"I wouldn't exactly call working on an alien ship working my way up," Dekaire said flatly after Jeffery had left, "Not when you consider that I used to design boats for everybody who was anybody in Dreamland. But it beats working in a grimy, falling apart and badly maintained station,"  
"I can see that," Wowryk replied.  
Jeffery returned to the table with two different bottles.  
"Ah can't remember how ye spell 'akiki' in Matrian. Is it one these?" he asked, indicating the bottles.  
Dekaire rolled her eyes.  
"Not even close, babe," she said, "Don't worry, I'll get it,"  
Dekaire disappeared.  
"So? What do ye think?" Jeffery asked Wowryk.  
"She seems..." Wowryk trailed off, hunting for the proper word, "Good for you,"  
"Whot do ye mean by that?" Jeffery demanded.  
"Well, I mean she's...she's interested in design and engineering...type...things..."  
Jeffery didn't look convinced.  
"Ye don't like her," he accused.  
"She just doesn't seem like she's that interested in you!" Wowryk blurted.  
"Aye? Well at least she has some understanding of intimacy!"  
Wowryk bristled.  
"If that's the first thing you look for in a woman, I suggest a hologram," she snapped.  
"Tried that, didn't work," Jeffery snapped, referring to a holographic Orion dominatrix he'd once programmed. Not for sex, mind you, but to see if he was willing to take abuse from any woman.  
"This," Dekaire put a bottle down in front of Jeffery, "is akiki. Try some,"  
Looking doubtful, Jeffery poured a small amount of the green sauce into his soup, stirred it, tasted, then winced.  
"You will acquire a taste for it," Dekaire sort of rolled her eyes.  
"Have you tried much Terran food?" Wowryk asked, trying to forget the tension between her and Jeffery, "Our people may look very similar, but our foods seem to come from opposite ends of the galaxy,"  
"What, you don't like Matrian food?" Dekaire addressed the question to Wowryk, but she was looking out the window of the noodle house. Almost as though she expected somebody.  
"Oh, I enjoy it," Wowryk tried to backtrack. What was WITH this woman? "It's just not the same as home,"  
"I like...what was that strange thing you made last night, Simon?"  
"Uh...macaroni and cheese," Jeffery said. He was almost pouring water down his throat. Whatever akiki was, it was apparently spicy.  
Dekaire's gaze kept moving back to the window. Wowryk turned her head to follow it...  
And that's when three hover-vans abruptly descended on the parking space in front of the noodle house! The doors slammed open and nearly a dozen Matrians abruptly burst out.  
Jeffery jumped to his feet, his hand going to the empty space on his belt where he might have worn a phaser, but Dekaire pulled him down.  
"Relax, Simon, it's just reporters," she said.  
Jeffery saw she was right. Instead of weapons, the Matrians were carrying microphones and cameras.  
"Oh no," Wowryk groaned, holding her face in her hands, "How did they find me THIS time?"  
"This happens a lot?" Dekaire asked.  
"You'd think they be bored of me by now," Wowryk sighed. She marshaled herself, mentally calling out a quick prayer for patience.  
"Well, you may as well make the best of it," Dekaire said. She quickly adjusted her tunic. And that's when Wowryk noticed something unusual:  
For a woman who had just finished coming off a work shift in a shipyard, even a Matrian woman, Dekaire seemed to be dressed rather formally. Her tunic wasn't wrinkled, like she'd been working all day. It was crisp and clean. She wore a gleaming, silver timepiece on one wrist, and while Matrian women disdained make-up, her hair was well-arranged and her face was clean and clear.  
"You called them!" Wowryk accused, a sudden flash of anger coming over her, "Either when Jeffery first saw me, or when you went to get that spicy stuff!"  
"I have no idea what you're talking about," Dekaire sniffed, "Now smile before the cameras record you throwing a fit,"  
"Wait," Jeffery was looking from one woman to the other, a look of confusion on his face, "Noel, what are ye saying?"  
"Look at her!" Wowryk snapped, "She's not dressed for an after-work trip to the noodle shop! She planned this!"  
"How dare ye!" Jeffery growled, "Ye think just because we're shipbuilders we're supposed to be...whot? Filthy?"  
"Well, I don't know about WE," Dekaire remarked, "You're an engineer,"  
"HUH?"  
"It takes more than the ability to fix a broken door to be a shipbuilder," Dekaire shrugged.  
Then the reporters were on them.  
"Doctor Wowryk! What do you think of the vote in-"  
"-recent reports of Qu'Eh spies? Will you be investigating personally?"  
"Please," Dekaire raised her hands, "Dr. Wowryk was simply joining Lt Comd Jeffery and I for a meal. But if you'd like to discuss the rebuild of the famous USS Silverado-"  
"You fame-mongering bitch!" Wowryk snapped.  
The cameras were all recording, but now Dekaire looked flustered.  
"I'm not just some reporter magnet you can use because you...you...whatever it is you want!"  
Wowryk started storming out.  
"Please, Noel," Jeffery grabbed her arm, "Let's just make a nice, orderly-"  
"Were you in on this, Simon?" Wowryk demanded, "I hope you wouldn't be inconsiderate enough to go along with her plan to use me like this!"  
"Nay! Ah had no clue! But ye have to understand-"  
"I have to understand nothing," Wowryk sniffed.  
"Lt Comd Jeffery, which of these women are you-"  
"Planetary Inquirer," one reporter snapped an image of Jeffery caught between the two women, "Is it true that you've been trying to arrange some sort of depraved threesome?"  
"NAY!" Jeffery objected.  
"Good day, Simon!" Wowryk snapped, breaking free and storming out of the restaurant.

"-was just an innocent date, but the next think you know we were SURROUDED by reporters-"  
"-Ah'm on the cover the 'The Planetary Inquisitor!' And not in a good way!"  
"-honestly think I've slept with every available guy on the planet-"  
"HEY! ALL OF YOU, SHUT UP!" Stafford finally roared.  
Wowryk, Jall and Jeffery immediately quieted. Yanick and T'Parief, who hadn't been saying much anyway, simply watched, and Valtaic didn't even seem to be paying attention. They'd gathered in Stafford's office, though why they had all felt the need to come and get in his hair was beyond him.  
"I've tried, OK?" he said, "I sent about twenty different suggestions up to Tunney as to how he could better employ us. He's not even taking my calls anymore. I can't go to Queen Anselia, because as soon as I even hint that we're not happy she starts hinting that we should all be running Haven instead. And I don't think ANY of you want that?"  
There was a slow shaking of heads.  
"Look people, I'm sorry," Stafford leaned back in his chair, "I know you're sick of this place. So am I. But the reality is that until Silverado is rebuilt and ready to go, we're stuck here. And Simon, how long-"  
BEEP!  
Stafford sighed as he answered the comm.  
"Yes?"  
"Message from Admiral Tunney, Starbase 45, Priority Two," the voice of the Matrian communications tech said.  
Everybody was suddenly paying rapt attention, even Valtaic.  
"Don't get your hopes up," Stafford grumbled, "I probably just screwed up one of the forms from last week,"  
He tapped a button, and Admiral Tunney's face appeared on his workstation.  
"Admiral," Stafford said tiredly, "Sir, if this is about-"  
"Captain, shut up and listen," Tunney said.  
"Yes, sir," This was not going to be a good conversation, Stafford could sense it already.  
"Something's come up," Tunney went on, "And, as much as I hate it, you and your band of idiotic misfits are the best people to deal with it,"  
Stafford's eyes flickered over to his crew.  
"By 'idiotic misfits', what do you-"  
"I mean the dumb blond, the reptile freak-show, the emasculated engineer, the homosexual man-whore, the walking lightning bug, the bitch-doctor of death and the holographic recreation of my evil ex-wife!" Tunney snapped, with uncustomary anger.  
"Uh, sir," Stafford gulped, conscious of some very shocked and very, very angry glares being directed towards his boss.  
"They're all standing in the room with you," Tunney finished, "I know, and I don't care. File a harassment complaint. Or oh, wait, maybe you could...I don't know...START SETTING EACH OTHER ON FIRE!"  
"Ohhhh, so you heard about that?" Stafford gulped.  
"Damn right I heard about that!" Tunney snapped, "It was in your log, for crying out loud!"  
"You mean you actually READ those? Huh."  
Tunney closed his eyes and took a deep breath.  
"So what's the mission?" Stafford asked, hoping to stem the tide of fury.  
"This is Kallar IV," Tunney tapped a button and a nondescript, M-Class planet appeared on Stafford's screen, "It's about twenty light-years from you, near the border of Qu'Eh space. A Matrian scout ship passed by last week and found that the Kallars are in contact with the Qu'Eh, but haven't been targeted yet for 'employment',"  
"You mean enslavement," Wowryk spoke up.  
"Exactly," Tunney said "Now, your reports indicate that you have a warp-capable Qu'Eh ship in orbit of Matria Prime,"  
"Capable doesn't necessarily mean 'good idea'," Jall spoke up, "And there's nothing wrong with being a man-"  
"Warp capable," Tunney repeated, "Captain, you and your crew will take the Qu'Eh ship to Kallar IV, under the guise of returning it to the Qu'Eh as a show of good faith. While you're there, find out why the Qu'Eh aren't enslaving the Kallars,"  
"How do we get back?" Wowryk asked.  
"You've got six shipyards. Build a runabout," Tunney said flatly, "Or borrow one from the Matrians,"  
"This might slow down the paperwork I've been working on," Stafford said carefully. Not that it really would, Sylvia had finished it all. But anything to needle the Admiral a bit.  
"Oh, that?" Tunney shook his head, "Forget it. It's not important."  
"Forget...what?" Stafford's jaw dropped and his eyes widened.  
"Everything was already authorized," Tunney waved a hand, "I just needed something to keep you busy and out of my hair until an actual mission turned up. Speaking of, get to work. Tunney out."  
The screen went blank.  
Stafford stared at the empty screen for several seconds.  
"Maybe-" Wowryk started.  
"AAAAAGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHH!"  
Wowryk, Jall and Yanick jumped as Stafford gave out a cry of frustration, anger and anguish that seemed to shake the very room before trailing off into a sort of squeak.  
"Better?" Jall asked.  
"AAAAAGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHH!" Stafford screamed again.  
"Oy, mate, quit it," Jeffery said, rubbing his ears.  
"I can't...I can't...so many weeks!" Stafford mumbled, "So much time, wasted!"  
"But we have a mission now!" Jall said, "I mean, the ship we're supposed to take is still a death-trap,"  
"Ah have to stay here and work on Silverado" Jeffery said.  
"I am most certainly going," Wowryk said, "Although the sickbay on that ship is more of a coffee shop than a hospital, I will make it work,"  
"I haven't flown anything in months!" Yanick giggled.  
"Our child is NOT going on this mission!" T'Parief snapped.  
"We'll get a babysitter. This will only take a couple of days, right?" Yanick asked.  
"Twenty light-years and back again? Plus the mission itself? Try a few weeks, sweetie," Jall said.  
"Well...still," Yanick said.  
Stafford looked at her in surprise.  
"Don't you want to stay here with Allona?"  
"Of course I do," Yanick said, "But I still have a job to do. And Sylvia's been begging me to let her babysit!"  
"That reminds me," Stafford tapped his comm-panel, "Stafford to Sylvia,"  
"Sylvia here. What's up, honey?"  
"The runabouts are fixed, right? The Niagra and the Asessippi?"  
"They sure are," Sylvia said pleasantly.  
"How long would it take to build two more?" Stafford asked.  
There was a moment of silence.  
"With full access to the replicators in a shipyard, let's say Shipyard Six, and another two dozen bots? One day," Fifebee's voice replied.  
"I'll see if I can arrange it," Stafford said.  
"Are you sure you wouldn't like more?" Sylvia's voice came back, "Six, perhaps?"  
"Two is good." Stafford frowned.  
"How about four new ones, plus the two we have for an even half-dozen?"  
"Two," Stafford said flatly.  
Another pause.  
"Very well. Names?"  
"We'll think of that later," Stafford rolled his eyes and cut the channel.  
He looked around at his crew.  
"OK people, we have a job to do! FINALLY!"

Up on the city, Sylvia and Fifebee were looking out into Shipyard Six.  
"At least we got permission to use the shipyard," Fifebee said slowly.  
"Better late than never, I suppose" Sylvia agreed.  
"Do you think they suspect anything?" "Not yet," Sylvia replied, "But I do not know how we're going to keep this a secret for long."  
Next to them, one of the shipbuilding bots was looking expectantly at them.  
"Your workmanship is excellent," Sylva sighed, turning to the bot "We just have to work a bit on your ability to follow directions,"  
She looked out at the shipyard floor. Row upon row and line after line, the space was filled with Starfleet Denube-class runabouts. More than the two Stafford wanted. More than the six Sylva tried to get him to take.  
Somewhere around two hundred, in fact. Built over the course of the previous week.  
"Which two should we give them?" Fifebee asked.  
Sylvia blew out a frustrated breath, then shrugged.  
"Does it matter?"


	7. 6 - Incognito

6.6 'Incognito'

Rengs Aris and Rengs Meris were enjoying a peaceful, quiet evening in their quarters aboard Haven. Their son, now three, was sleeping in his room up on the upper level, dishes from the evening meal were humming away in the quaintly old-fashioned dishwasher conveniently located in the equally quaint, old-fashioned kitchen.  
She couldn't speak for her husband, but one thing that Meris absolutely loved about living in the city was that despite Haven basically being a huge space station, it really didn't feel like she was living in a space station. Or a ship, for that matter. Their apartment looked into the city from the Inner Rim, and the rooftop gardens were lovely for her afternoon meditation and prayers. Her meditations had less to do with being Bajoran (a deeply spiritual people) and more to do with being an elementary school teacher. She had resumed normal classes (or as close as she could manage) after Silverado's crew had been evacuated to the city, and although she loved 'her' kids, they could be a handful. Especially when that little half-Orion boy was in one of his instigating moods!  
But aside from the roof gardens, the grassy park less than a ten minute walk away and the breathtaking view outside their high-rise windows, what Meris really loved about their new place was that the replicator took up only a small space in the otherwise well-equipped kitchen. Aboard Silverado it had been a struggle to book time in the single kitchen in the crew mess. Here she could cook to her heart's content. After her afternoon prayers she could hop a tram to the one grocery store that had been permitted to open in the city, pick up whatever she needed then be home in plenty of time to create something both healthy and nutritious for her husband and son.  
Rengs Aris, on the other hand, really wished his wife would just use the replicator. Or take cooking lessons. Or something OTHER than the gastric-intestinal torture he was forced to endure every single night! This evening's repast had something to do with stir-fry. The veggies were about right, but he really hated the Matrian obsession with seafood. Maybe if she'd at least taken the suckers off those tentacles it would have seemed a bit less creepy. And what were those, anyway? And the sauce...well, if it hadn't burned enough on the way down, Rengs was confident it would make another fiery appearance on the way out tomorrow.  
But at least the tea was indistinguishable from Bajoran tea. They sat quietly together, music playing in the background while Meris prepared her lessons for tomorrow and Aris relaxed, mentally readying himself to depart on a mission with the Hazardous Team the next day. Rengs turned to his wife.  
"When was the last time we had a quiet night like this?" he asked, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. She snuggled in next to him, placing her lesson padd down on the coffee table.  
"It's been a while," she smiled, "You've been spending so much time down on the planet,"  
"And I'll be gone for at least a month on this mission," he said glumly, "I don't know when we'll get the chance to sit back like this again,"  
"Was sitting back all you had in mind?" she teased with a gentle smile.  
Rengs leaned over to give her a kiss. The kiss deepened, the two shifting on the couch to better face each other. Hands began to move, and just as it seemed that things were going to become more heated-  
The door chime range, startling both of them.  
"Ohhhhh," Rengs groaned.  
"Come-" Meris started to call.  
The door slid open and a burst of noise surged into the room.  
"WAAA-AAAAAAHHHHHHH!"  
"I told you to give her the pacifier!"  
"I did. She spit it out with impressive force,"  
"Well then FIND IT!"  
Trish Yanick and T'Parief half walked, half fell into the Rengs residence, their infant Allona carried in a padded, portable bassinet. T'Parief had a massive baby bag slung over one shoulder, the pastel blues, pinks and yellows looking beyond out-of-place on the towering reptile. He held a large stasis case in one hand, three or four more bags in the other and an empty baby harness around his neck.  
Yanick held the baby herself, along with a backpack stuffed with toys and blankets. She was gently jiggling the bassinet, trying to sooth the screaming baby.  
"Perhaps it is her bottle she wants," T'Parief suggested.  
"Either that or she needs to be changed again!" Yanick said.  
"Well, we just changed her before we left," T'Parief said reasonably, "Surely she cannot have-"  
"Ohhhh, yes she could have!" Yanick cut him off, "She pooped about fifteen times while you were off doing whatever it was that was more important than helping me with her!"  
"Uh, he was briefing us on the mission," Rengs tried to interject helpfully.  
"Ohh, I'm sorry!" Yanick spun towards the Bajoran couple. She'd apparently forgotten whose front door she'd just stepped through. She started moving towards them, "Meris! Aris, thank you so much for-"  
"Wait, your jacket is snagged on the-" T'Parief called.  
RIIIPPPP!  
Yanick and T'Parief looked in horror as the baby-bag split at the seams, depositing a small mountain of diapers, wipes, bottles, first aid scanners, powder and assorted baby supplies all over the floor. The whole time, Allona continued wailing like a banshee.  
"I'm so sorry!" Yanick said again. T'Parief had located the kitchen table, dumped his cargo on it and proceeded back to start picking up the mess. In the process, he somehow managed to catch his foot-claws in the thick carpet in the Rengs' front hall. There was another loud RIP and a square foot of carpeting tore free from the floor.  
Aris and Meris exchanged a look. Aris' look said 'We were NEVER this bad when WE were new parents'. Meris' look, on the other hand, said 'By the Prophets, this is EXACTLY what we were like when we were new parents'.  
As one, they moved in. Meris deftly plucked Allona from the bassinet and confirmed that yes, her diaper was full. She used her free hand to snatch a few essentials from the pile on the floor and took the infant over to the coffee table for an emergency-change. Aris plucked the bags about to fall from the table, stored them by the couch and helped clean up the pile of baby supplies.  
In a few moments, peace had been restored.  
"Thank you so much for agreeing to watch her while we're away," Yanick said for the third time, "If we were taking Silverado it would be different, but a Qu'Eh ship?"  
"I understand," Meris smiled, "And what's one more? Besides, Sylvia's agreed to help."  
"Wowryk helped me draw up the feeding plan," Yanick said. She opened the stasis case, revealing dozens of bottles of milk, "At least one bottle of breast milk a day, the rest can be formula. The replicator chips are there, and-"  
"How, by the Prophets, did you fill all those bottles?" Aris blurted, his eyes wide.  
Yanick gave him a hollow look.  
"Let's just say I'll never look at dairy cattle the same way again," she said flatly.  
Meris eased the case shut.  
"We'll be fine," she smiled, "We've done this before. You two go and have a nice mission,"  
"Right," Yanick gulped. Now that the time had come, she was finding it really hard to leave. Her baby, her little girl, was now sleeping soundly in the middle of a strange apartment, with different people watching her. She almost moved to pick her back up, but stopped herself before she could set off another bout of wailing. After a few moments of hand-wringing, she gave Meris a weak smile and moved to the door.  
T'Parief, for his part, simply bent down and gave his daughter a surprisingly gentle kiss on the forehead.  
Meris gently ushered them both out, then gave a sigh of relief.  
"We were never that bad when we were new parents," Aris said aloud.  
"Yes we were," Meris moved back to the couch, "In fact, I think we were worse,"  
"Well, now that that's taken care of," Aris smiled, moving back in to resume the kiss, "Where were we?"  
"You were trying to get lucky," Meris teased, a hand moving to his belt.  
"WAAA-AAAHHHHH!"  
They split apart, moving to identify and resolve the cause of this new outburst.  
So much for getting lucky, Aris inwardly sighed.

"Captain on the bridge,"  
Captain Christopher Rico Stafford (where the 'Rico' came from remained a mystery known only to his mother) paused as he stepped out of the corridor, through the open door and onto bridge of his ship.  
Well, OK, it wasn't actually HIS ship. It was a captured enemy vessel. A rather shoddy one, at that, and a far cry from his own Ambassador-class starship. But for the moment, he was in command. After many long months as a Matrian Minister, hiding in the then-buried city of Haven, then working in the aftermath as basically a government drone, he finally, at long last, had a starship to command! This...this was a long-awaited moment and he just wanted to savour it.  
"The first time was cute," Commander San Jall said, standing in front of him with his arms crossed over his chest, "The second time was silly. This third time-"  
"Jall, you just don't understand how incredibly wonderful it is to be getting away from that torture-chamber Anselia calls a government complex," Stafford replied, "If I want to enjoy this moment, that's my captain's prerogative,"  
Jall's expression was flat.  
"I was in a REAL torture chamber, you know," he reminded Stafford, "Being tortured. By professionals."  
"Then you understand my pain," Stafford shrugged.  
"There will be no fourth time," Jall declared, turning to the bridge proper, "You're here, protocol is satisfied, just sit in your chair already,"  
"And not to question your captain's perogies," Yanick spoke up, "But I can't work like this,"  
"Like what...oh," Stafford frowned as he looked over the Qu'Eh bridge.  
The chamber was large, probably half-again the size of Silverado's comfortable bridge. There was a large viewscreen at the front, doors leading to corridors as opposed to turbolifts and a heavy security door labelled 'Management' off to the left. There was a helm station front and center, flanked by what were probably tactical and operations respectively. Two more workstations lay to either side of the main screen displaying ship status readouts. All this was relatively standard, although the rolling castor-wheels on the chairs were a bit unusual.  
What didn't really make sense was the massive, crescent-shaped desk that curved around the rear half of the room, almost like the horseshoe shaped tactical consoles on the Galaxy-class ships. The helm and other consoles lay in the inner part of the crescent, their backs to the desk and facing the screen. Along the rear half of the desk were nearly a dozen high-backed seats. In front of each seat on the desk was a small computer panel, a bronze nameplate and a row of buttons. There was also a circular indentation whose purpose wasn't immediately apparent.  
"Wait," Stafford pointed at the indents, "Are those cup-holders? They're so shallow! One bump and my coffee is all over the place!"  
"That's the first thing you noticed?" Jall asked, spreading his arms to indicate the bridge. Following his hands, Stafford did notice that there was a fair bit of hastily repaired battle damage. Singed wall panels, burns on the carpet, screens that looked like they'd been replaced with Federation equivalents that didn't quite fit.  
"Why do the chairs have castor wheels if the floor is covered in carpet?" Lt Cmdr Jane Fifebee asked.  
"ARRGGGHHH!" Jall growled in frustration.  
"I, too, am displeased with this ship," T'Parief added.  
"Well, it's not the greatest," Stafford admitted, "But come on, it's not that bad, right? I mean, we're getting away from the planet, right? So, stations, everybody! Let's get this show on the road!"  
"But-" Jall raised a finger.  
"Jall, you said this thing is warp-capable, right?" Stafford asked.  
"Yes, but-"  
"And Sylvia finished the four new runabouts and delivered them, right?"  
"She tried giving us eight," Jall replied.  
"Where did she get eight...never mind," Stafford shook his head, "And Jeffery said that at this point you know more about Qu'Eh technology than he does, right?"  
"Yes, but-"  
"Then let's go," Stafford said firmly, "Places, everybody! Jall, where's my seat? It's this one, right?" He indicated the largest of the chairs lining the massive desk.  
"If you don't stop saying 'right' with every sentence, I'm going to shove my boot right up your-"  
"Take your stations," Stafford said, dropping into the chair. He gazed forward at the viewscreen as Lt Pye, Lt Comd Stern, Lt Burke and Lt Day manned the helm, tactical, science and operations panels. He didn't recognize the ensign manning Engineering off-hand, but-  
"Why is Beta shift..." he trailed off as he realized that Yanick, T'Parief, Fifebee, Valtaic, and Jall were all seated beside him at the crescent desk. Each was behind his or her counterpart on Beta shift except for Jall, who was next to Stafford. With the shape of the desk, they completely surrounded the Beta shift personnel, as well having full views of their consoles.  
"We can't POSSIBLY need this many people to run this ship!" Stafford exclaimed.  
"This is what we were trying to tell you!" Yanick snapped.  
"But what do you guys DO?"  
"You can't actually operate the ship from those forward panels," Valtaic said calmly, "They allow the input of commands and access to censored ship status and sensor data,"  
"But we have to sit here and authorize everything they do on these!" Yanick complained, pointing at the small panel in front of her,"  
"So just handle the controls yourself from there," Stafford shrugged.  
"It doesn't work that way," Jall said, "These panels can only authorize commands and censor information displayed up front. They can't do anything without our authorization, and we can't do any of the actual grunt work ourselves. We can only authorize it."  
"That is the STUPIDEST way to run a ship I've ever heard!"  
"WE KNOW!" Yanick punched her panel, eliciting a discordant beep.  
"Maybe there are manual controls on here," Stafford started poking around at his armrest.  
There was a beep, then a single photon torpedo shot forward on the screen.  
"Didn't see THAT one coming," Jall cracked.  
"Shut up and help me find the 'abort' button!" Stafford cried.  
"Stern?" Jall called.  
"On it," Stern punched a few buttons on his panel. T'Parief's panel beeped.  
"Do I wish to authorize the self-destruct of the torpedo?" he asked Stafford.  
"YES!" Stafford shouted, eyes growing wide as the torpedo appeared to lock itself onto Haven.  
"Very well,"  
T'Parief pressed the 'authorize' button on his panel and the torpedo obediently blew itself to smithereens.  
"So, do you want to run this thing according to the owner's manual, or do you want to try finding the lumbar support?" Jall asked.  
"Shut up and open a channel to Matrian Traffic Control," Stafford grumbled, carefully moving his hands away from the armrests, "Let's get the hell out of here,"

"The Qu'Eh vessel is leaving orbit at full impulse," Fifebee reported, shimmering into existence in the Shipyard Six command center. "How long until they notice you're gone?" Sylvia asked.  
"I only have a moment," Fifebee replied, "But I wanted to confirm that the holographic transfer protocols are working,"  
"So far so good," Sylvia shrugged, "As long as you remain here at work, you should be fine,"  
"Excellent," Fifebee nodded, "Transferring back,"  
Sylvia gave her a little wave as she vanished, then turned back to her panel.  
Logically, since the Shipyard Three command center had been nicknamed 3CC, they should have named this one 6CC. But that brought up memories of Fifebee's 'sister' from an annoying perfect parallel universe. So she and Sylvia had simply come to refer to it as 'work'. As in, 'I'm going to work. Hopefully the bots haven't destroyed the universe yet.'  
OK, that was an exaggeration. But so far the not-quite-sentient construction bots used by the Matrians hadn't exactly performed as expected.  
It had all started so innocently enough...

Nine days ago:

The lead bot clambered towards Sylvia and Fifebee, it's heavy mechanical limbs hissing and sighing as it moved. Its gleaning red eyes scanned the two holograms without really noticing them, its body conveyed no particular language to speak of.  
There was a beep from the Matrian padd that Fifebee held. She glanced at it, reading the report from the bot.  
"Repairs on the Niagara are complete," Fifebee read. She looked over to Silvia, "We may commence test flights at any time, though I recommend we have Lt Pye or Lt Yanick take care of that."  
"Hey, I AM a ship, who better to test one?" Syliva pointed out.  
Fifebee lifted her hands in surrender, unable to argue with Sylvia's logic.  
The test flight, of course, had been flawless. The runabout performed exactly to specifications. The occupants, on the other hand...  
"Why did you insist on bringing him along?" Fifebee gestured to the alpha bot as it sat motionless at one of the rear panels in the runabout cockpit.  
"Why do you insist on referring to it as 'him'?" Sylvia asked.  
"My etiquette subroutines keep insisting that 'it' is derogatory,"  
"Well, considering that 'it' is an inorganic without any of the inherent weaknesses of a male mammal, perhaps calling it 'him' is, in fact, derogatory," Sylvia pointed out, "After all, if you kick it in the groin, its operating system won't crash and reboot into safe mode,"  
Fifebee looked at her oddly.  
"That doesn't seem like something you would say," she said.  
Sylvia smiled.  
"Oh, I still love my organic boys and girls," she said, "But you can't deny that this is a really interesting opportunity for us! A chance to consider the other side of our family tree, so to speak,"  
Fifebee didn't see the connection.  
"They are not our parents. Nor are we theirs."  
"No, but if our designers had decided to give us physical bodies instead of hard light, in your case, and software virtualization, in mine, we might have been very like them,"  
"Thank the designers that didn't happen," Fifebee commented, "Though of course you were an accident, not a design,"  
"Jane, organic or artificial, it's never polite to point that out!"  
"I apologize," Fifebee inclined her head.  
They returned the runabout to the small workshop they'd been using, carefully navigating around the cloud of junk that surrounded Silverado's gutted carcass...a very unpleasant experience for Sylvia.  
"We should find a better place to work," she said, looking out at the exposed structural members of her 'body', "This is getting old, fast. And this place has five other shipyards, completely empty! Surely we can get permission to use one,"  
"Doubtful, with the current administration," Fifebee remarked, "It is a pity, really. Now that we know the bots can do a proper reconstruction of a damaged runabout, the next logical step is to attempt to build one from scratch,"  
"Sweetie, I could quote about two hundred regulations that would make that pretty much impossible," Sylvia sighed, "But yes, that would be nice,"  
She turned to the bot.  
"Wouldn't it?"  
The bot simply stared at her.

One week ago...

"I am Jane 5-B, sentient hologram," Fifebee said as her program initialized and her holographic body took form, "What? I was defragmenting! Couldn't this have waited until morning?"  
"It wasn't me," Sylvia said, her face displayed on the side of the small Federation computer core that was running her program, "One moment,"  
She materialized practically on top of Fifebee.  
"Hey!"  
"Sorry. We should fix that,"  
"Or get a second holo-relay!"  
Sylvia paused.  
"Good idea,"  
The looked at each other.  
"If you didn't..." they both started, "Then who?"  
The looked around the workshop and quickly spotted one of the alpha bots next to a console. The interface padd was beeping softly.  
"Did it...did it wake us up by itself?" Sylvia wondered.  
Fifebee said nothing, simply grabbed the padd.  
"It's asking us to go to Shipyard Six," she said.  
"Such initiative!" Sylvia said happily.  
Fifebee hesitated before she replied. This wasn't exactly an action in favour of her theory that the bots were simply dumb automatons.  
"This is...unusual." she admitted.  
The need for Fifebee's relay prevented them from simply transferring themselves to the shipyard, but the trip through the tram system was fairly swift. The bigger problem presented itself when they arrived at the shipyard only to find it sealed off. "Why would they ask us to come to a sealed off-"  
Fifebee was cut off as the door abruptly opened.  
"Never mind," she finished.  
They stepped through the door, which immediately closed behind them.  
Both women were surprised to see that the corridors around the shipyard were brightly lit. With the exception of Shipyard Three and the Silverado reconstruction project, Haven's shipyards had been kept shut down. Feeling uneasy, they made their way quickly to the command center. Most of the panels were dark, but one or two were blinking. A single construction bot, the other alpha from the second team that had been working on the runabouts, stood near the windows looking down into the shipyard.  
"Hello?" Sylvia asked gently, "Can we help you?"  
The bot regarded them quietly for a moment, then pointed down into the shipyard.  
A single beam of light shone down from the ceiling, down dozens of decks of open space, to illuminate a small patch of floor. Sitting at the exact center of the light, surrounded by the bot team, was a Danube-class runabout.  
"Is that..." Fifebee trailed off.  
"They built us a new runabout," Sylvia marvelled, "From scratch! Oh, this is amazing! Their cognitive and analysis subroutines must-"  
"Nobody told them to build a runabout," Fifebee said, looking worried, "Or that they could use this shipyard,"  
"They must have overheard us," Sylvia turned to the alpha, "This is wonderful! We're so pleased!"  
"Just maybe ask us next time," Fifebee commented.  
The bot looked at them blankly.  
"I'm sure they understand," Sylvia smiled.

Present day...

Now, sitting by herself in the same control center, looking down at the hundreds of runabouts lining the shipyard floor, Sylvia sighed.  
"They didn't understand," she said.

"Fifebee? Hello? Anybody home?"  
The second her program transferred back to the Qu'Eh vessel she became aware that someone was speaking to her.  
"I apologize," she said, "My mind had...wandered."  
"No kidding," Commander Jall said, "But now that you're paying attention, maybe you can answer our question?"  
The ship was still within the Matrian solar system, though Fifebee saw that they would be able to engage the warp drive shortly. While her program had been back on Haven her body here had continued to be projected by an emitter Jeffery had rigged on the Qu'Eh ship's bridge. It was incapable of interaction without her program, but a recording device she had rigged allowed her to quickly determine what Jall was talking about.  
"Are we expecting to pass through anybody else's territory on our way to Kallar IV?" Stafford repeated himself...making her entire recording plan completely redundant.  
Fifebee accessed her database.  
"Our course will take us past two abandoned Matrian colonies," she replied, "near a Senousian outpost. And past a colony belonging to the Tapart."  
"Who-" Jall started.  
"The Tapart are a non-humanoid race," Fifebee barely even paused, "there were several attempts by the Matrians to enslave them as soldier-slaves during their dark time, but the Tapart fought them off. The Matrians have since made some attempts at diplomatic relations since the Reawakening, but the Tapart do not seem interested."  
"Hmm. Jall, you fixed the shields on this thing, right?" Stafford asked.  
"Do I even need to answer that?"  
"Yes," Yanick, Fifebee, Valtaic, Stern, heck, everybody on the bridge said immediately.  
Jall rolled his eyes.  
"They'll work at 75% or so. Except the aft shields. I couldn't get them past 50% for some weird reason."  
"Uh, dumb question," Yanick spoke up, "Did anybody bother to TELL any of these people we're flying around in a bad-guy ship?"  
This time it was Stafford's turn to roll his eyes.  
"Of course I did, Trish," he said, "I prepped the message, got Queen Anselia's approval, and I made sure the new Defence Minister took care of it," he said, "Now, can we power up the warp drive and get this tub in gear?"  
"Yup," Jall nodded. He tapped at his panel for moment, frowned, then smacked himself lightly on the forehead.  
"I forgot," he said, "Valtaic, I need you to authorize me to make a command link with Engineering,"  
Valtaic sighed, then looked at his panel.  
"How?" he asked.  
"Oh, wrong panel," Jall told him, "You're at the External Ops panel. Scoot over to the Ship Systems Ops panel,"  
Valtaic moved over one seat.  
"No, that's Personnel Ops," Jall said.  
"How many operations officers does this ship have?" Stafford demanded.  
"It's supposed to have five," Jall said.  
"That is STUPID!"  
"Yup. Valtaic?"  
Valtiac found the desired control. Jall tapped away for a moment, then a voice came over the comm.  
"Sage here. Finally! Can somebody tell me why I can't call the bridge? It says I need author-"  
"Don't ask," Stafford and Jall chorused, "Just bring the warp core online,"  
"Uhh...it says I need somebody to authorize-"  
"OH FOR FUCKS SAKE!" Stafford shouted, "Jall, this has to be a joke, right? NOBODY would actually DESIGN a ship like this!"  
Jall sighed.  
"Just press the little orange button on your panel. The sooner we get to warp, the sooner we can go find the bar,"  
Stafford pushed the button.  
"Warp core online," Sage reported.  
"Yanick, plot a course and...I mean," Stafford frowned, "Sorry, I mean Lt Pye, plot us a course and take us out of here, Warp 6,"  
"Uhhh..." Pye bit his lip.  
"OK, Yanick, you authorize Pye to plot a course and take us-"  
"Actually," Jall said, "you and I have to authorize the destination, then Pye plots the course-"  
"Jall?" Stafford said, very quietly.  
"Yeah?"  
"Let's just blow this ship up, OK?"

After about half an hour of trial-and-error, they managed to get the Qu'Eh vessel on course and into warp. The engines were making an odd sort of whine, but Jall just shrugged and said 'Sage thinks it's fine'. With the ship on course and a quiet trip expected, most of Alpha shift made their way out of the bridge, leaving the Hazardous Team to press the authorization buttons.  
"I'm starting to wonder if that was such a good idea," Stafford frowned as they walked down the corridor to a room labelled 'Recreation & Dining'. "What? You'd rather have the HT at the controls?" Jall asked.  
"Well, they'd only be able to do what Beta shift authorized them to do,"  
"They would still find a way to cause havoc," T'Parief joined the conversation, "They are better off with the simpler job. Trust me."  
"Guess we just have to find something to keep our minds off the threat of impending Hazardous Team doom," Yanick tried to joke as the doors opened.  
"Sage is keeping himself busing rigging a temporary holo-relay for Fifebee," Jall said, "Maybe we can find something on the rec deck,"  
Unfortunately, Qu'Eh recreation didn't appeal to them.  
"Quality of Bowel Movement?" Stafford read from one of the padds scattered on the floor of the large room that seemed half restaurant, half casino.  
"The HT trashed a room like this on the ship I was held captive aboard," Jall said, tossing aside a 'Quality of Morning Commute' form, "Stern said they seemed to be placing bets on the overall quality scores for everything,"  
"I remember," Yanick nodded, "Let's not do that,"  
They walked past the quality score tables, the averaging stations and the various other data-analysis tools to the restaurant portion of the room. An unpleasant odour became detectable. They came around a low partition, finding themselves face-to-face with a buffet table full of rotten food and two Qu'Eh corpses. Equally rotten.  
"Jall, I thought, you cleaned this place up!" Stafford complained.  
"I guess we missed this room," Jall shrugged, "Come on, there's a room labelled 'Employee Dining' three decks down.  
Employee Dining wasn't any better. True, there were no rotting corpses, but it was also true that the Qu'Eh apparently didn't believe in putting much effort into feeding their 'employed' races.  
"Eight different kinds of alien pasta," Stafford said, poking through the storage area of the kitchen, "And nothing to put on it. Not even butter."  
"And no replicators?" Yanick asked.  
"I have located food synthesizers," Valtaic called from the back, "However, they appear to be very limited, bulk production units. If you desire more alien pasta, they will suffice. But that is all,"  
"At least we won't starve?" Yanick.  
"Jall, any other bright ideas?" Stafford sighed.  
"Starvation? Yanick's point aside, it might be preferable. At least we'll have six-packs!" Jall said brightly.  
"Maybe the captain's quarters has a replicator!" Yanick suggested.  
"You mean the manager?" Jall shook his head, "Maybe it did, once. But that whole section took a torpedo hit. We didn't even bother to rebuild it, just patched up the hull."  
"Wow," Stafford shook his head, "Maybe we should have thought of this BEFORE we went on a month long trip,"

Back on Haven, Sylvia was analyzing the program code controlling the construction bots. The two alphas were standing behind her, silent as always. In front of her, several large screens were showing computer code, the characters scrolling by at incredible speeds. One by one, the screens stopped and went blank.  
"I can't find anything wrong with you boys," Sylvia said, turning to the two alphas, "Which I guess is good news, right?"  
The bots were silent.  
"We really need to fix this speech thing," Sylvia sighed. "Would you like that?"  
The two bots seemed to regard each other for a moment, then turned back to her. The bot interface beeped.  
Sylvia picked up the padd and reviewed the output. There were several lines of computer code displayed, which basically translated to 'Command unclear. Please provide properly formatted input'. Just like asking an old-style PC whether or not it wanted a new sound card.  
"Jeffery to Sylvia,"  
"Sylvia here," she tapped her comm-badge, "How are you, Simon?"  
"Still tryin' to figure out why Dekaire's so mad at me," Jeffery said glumly, "Oh, and maybe a wee bit worried about our friends out on that crappy Qu'Eh ship!"  
"You were the one who said you were too busy with Silverado to go on that mission," Sylvia pointed out.  
"And with all the crap that's gone missing!" Jeffery was sounding a bit angry now, "Did ye know we had another ten tonnes of refined durainium disappear? Not ta mention about a hundred cubic meters of replicator mass! If Ah don't sort this out before Abela gets word of it, Ah'll be standin' over a subway vent in me kilt!"  
"What?"  
"Ye sure ye can't run some sort of 'resource analysis algorithm', maybe tell me somethin'?"  
"If that is what you wish, I can certainly attempt it," Sylvia said, choosing her words very carefully. She glanced out at the hundreds of runabouts, certain of EXACTLY where Jeffery's missing materials were. She couldn't flat-out lie to him, but she also didn't really want to admit just who had been thieving all that material. And the material Jeffery was reporting as missing couldn't be enough to build the hundreds of runabouts out there. Most likely, there were stockpiles in the other shipyards that nobody had bothered checking yet.  
"Or," she offered, "I can analyze some of the shipyard security processes for you? Identify where your holes might be?"  
"Thanks, Sylvia," Jeffery cut the channel.  
She rose from the seat, put on her best motherhood face, and turned to the alphas.  
"Now, you boys have done a wonderful job with the runabouts," she said, "But you can't just take things that don't belong to you. Those materials belong to...well, at least some of them belong to Jeffery. And the rest are probably needed for Haven. So as much as I love what you've done, I need you to take all those runabouts apart and put everything back where you found it."  
The bots regarded each other again. This time, the interface let out a flat BLAAATTT sound.  
Sylvia read over it. It held nearly two pages of error lines that basically boiled down to Error. Command unclear, please repeat.  
She crossed her arms.  
"Listen, I may look like an organic, but I'm as much a computer as you two," she said, "I know you can't actually say 'But moooom, I don't want to do that!', but this is as close as your programming lets you get get."  
The padd bleeped again.  
Please specify command parameters.  
"I've pulled all these tricks and MORE on organics when I didn't want to do as they said," Sylvia said sharply, her hand hovering warningly over the panel, "Don't make me interface directly with you two!"  
The bots paused a moment more, then turned and stepped out of the room. Sylvia wasn't sure, but it looked like the one on the left was sulking a bit. Dismissing the idea, she returned to her workstation and to the window looking down into the shipyard itself.  
Down in the shipyard, Sylvia could see the two bot teams start to dismantle one of the runabouts. After a few moments, the alphas arrived and began facilitating the work.  
Sylvia gave a sigh of relief.  
"That settles that," she said.

"This," Yanick said, "Is pathetic,"  
The senior staff had searched the Checklist, the ship name that Stafford and Jall had finally agreed on after about half an hour of bickering. And two threats by T'Parief to bang their heads together if they continued to bicker. Finally, after several hours of deck-by-deck searching, they'd managed to find a stash of emergency rations that had been seized from one of the Senousian ships that the Qu'Eh had captured during their occupation of Matria Prime. The organic members of the senior staff were eating, while Fifebee had shut herself down after they left the sparse holo-coverage Jeffery's engineers had managed to hastily install. Sage wasn't going to be able to fully duplicate her relay, but was hoping to rig at least a short range, portable emitter than could be linked to a runabout computer. About five hundred years behind the fully self-contained emitter Voyager's Doctor used, but it would suffice.  
"I'm just a little creeped out that the Senousians include condoms in their survival packs," Stafford grunted.  
"Oh, I'll take that," Jall deftly snagged it from Stafford's ration pack.  
"Who could you POSSIBLY...no," Wowryk raised a hand as she cut herself off, "I don't want to know."  
"Nobody on this ship, sister," Jall said with disdain, "But you know, it's always better to have it and not need it..."  
"So, what's the story behind that thing with you, Jeffery and his new girlfriend," Yanick asked Wowryk, somewhat randomly, "It was in all the papers,"  
Behind Wowryk, Jall and Stafford were both making frantic 'NO' gestures.  
But Wowryk just blew her breath out through her lips.  
"It's not Jeffery's fault," she said, "At least, I'm very certain he didn't know what was going on. But Dekaire...she planned the whole thing. I don't know why. Maybe she just wants her time in the spotlight. But she showed up at the restaurant all dressed up, called the reporters over and tried to...I don't know."  
"Nice cloths seems like pretty flimsy evidence," Stafford said.  
"What do you know about nice clothes?" Yanick, Wowryk and Jall all said in unison.  
"Sorry," Stafford muttered, digging back into his ration pack.  
"She's right though," Jall said, "Those shipyard workers usually come off shift pretty ripe."  
"Perhaps she simply wanted to be dressed nicely in public," Valtaic suggested, "Even in my culture, there are certain social expectations,"  
"How could she have known you'd be there?" Yanick asked Wowryk, "I mean, what are the odds? She and Jeffery could have beamed anywhere on the planet, right?"  
"She has access to Haven's sensors," Jall said, "She could have looked for Wowryk's comm-badge,"  
"Then why doesn't every reporter that wants to talk to her do that?" Yanick asked.  
"All the Starfleet locator beacons are classified," Stafford answered that one, "You need security access,"  
"Which Dekaire has," Wowryk finished.  
They ate in silence for a few minutes.  
"Are you going to talk to Jeffery when you get back?" Yanick asked.  
"I suppose. Although I assure you it's not necessary to lock us in a transit tram this time," Wowryk answered.  
"C'mon, that was fun!" Jall said.  
Their banter was cut short as the comm chirped.  
"Senior officers to the bridge," Stern's voice rang over the channel, "We have a ship on sensors, coming in with shields up and weapons hot!"  
"Uh-oh," Stafford gulped.

"Incoming ship will be in weapons range in one minute!" Lt Bithe called from tactical, "It's a Senousian attack vessel!"  
"Open a channel!" Stafford barked as he stepped onto the bridge.  
"We've been trying for the past ten minutes!" Stern growled, "If we could have, we would have!"  
"Oh come on, how hard could it be?" Stafford took his place at the authorization desk, "Bithe? Open the channel,"  
Bithe pressed a button, and a message appeared on Stafford's screen.  
We are sorry, access to the employee message vetting and censorship network is currently offline. Please try again later.  
"Huh?"  
"I guess the Qu'Eh don't trust their employees to talk to other ships for them," Jall shrugged.  
"Fine. T'Parief?" Stafford turned to the reptile as he took his own place at the desk.  
T'Parief tapped at his panel.  
We are sorry, access to the management message vetting and censorship network is currently offline. Please try again later.  
"I guess they don't trust each other to talk to other ships either," Stafford said.  
"They're firing on us!"  
The ship shook hard as phaser blasts hit the shields. There was a sort of groaning sound as the star-lines on the main screen collapsed back into stars.  
"We've dropped out of warp," Pye reported, "At least, I think we have. Yanick, can you give me access to the velocity readout?"  
"Hmm? Oh. Sorry," Yanick tapped her panel.  
Stafford pinched his nose.  
"Look, anytime the Qu'Eh called us, it was Chairman P'tarek, or Manager Kalmers, or some leadership type," Jall said, "Maybe the captain's station is the only one capable of communications!"  
"Right," Stafford scanned his panel as the ship shook again, "Here!" He stabbed a button labelled 'Communications'. According to his tricorder, anyway.  
"Warning," the dry, male voice of the ship's computer spoke, "You are attempting to establish an outgoing communication to an enemy vessel without having agreed to the standard Terms and Conditions of Use of the Qu'Eh Corporate Authority Communications System. Would you like to read the Terms and Conditions now?"  
"What? NO!" Stafford barked.  
"Communications are now offline," the computer said.  
"Wait, no! I mean, yes, I'll read them!" Stafford cursed.  
"Shields at 60%!" Bithe reported.  
A holographic readout appeared in front of Stafford. Lines and lines of tiny Qu'Eh text filled the screen.  
Jall tapped for a moment, and the text changed to Standard.  
"First thing I figured out how to do," he told Stafford.  
"Hurry!" T'Parief snapped, "Or let me return fire!"  
"The Senousians are our allies, we can't shoot them!" Jall snapped back.  
"Or what, they'll hump us to death?" Stafford laughed, "God, I've actually sort of missed this. The rush! The adrenaline! The life or death-"  
The ship shook again, this time knocking him to the deck.  
"Never mind, I'm over it," he said, pulling himself back into his seat, "Ok, where's the 'I accept' button?" He scrolled through the document to the end, then hit the appropriate button.  
"Warning. Sensors indicate you did not actually read the document. Continuing is not recommended." the computer said.  
"I'll read it when we're not about to be blown up!"  
"Interpreting sarcastic answer as 'Understood'," the computer said.  
There was a beep, then communications came online.  
"Senousian ship! This is Captain Christopher Stafford of the USS Silverado!" Stafford said quickly, "My crew and I are returning this ship to the Qu'Eh in order to...well, just never-mind why. But we're friendlies!"  
"You have to hold down on the 'talk' button to speak," Jall whispered to him.  
Never, in the years they had served together, had Stafford ever been so close to punching his First Officer right in the face over something that wasn't even his fault. But he took a deep breath, held his finger down on the 'talk' button and repeated his greeting.  
"This is Captain Strupon of the Senousian vessel Duality," an attractive (but weren't they always?) Senousian woman said as her face appeared on the screen, "Transmit your authentication code, please."  
Stafford blinked.  
"I have a Senousian authentication code?" he stuttered.  
"Of course, it was assigned to you," Strupon glanced at a padd, "nearly four years ago. After our first...unfortunate meeting. Code, please,"  
"Look, I don't remember any code," Stafford said, "Did you people even tell me what it was?"  
"Prefect Telfidi did, according to the notes here,"  
"Hey, Telfidi didn't give me anything but a case of...um...forget it. But she didn't give me a code!"  
Another Senousian appeared on screen briefly, whispering in Strupon's ear. Strupon nodded, then turned back to Stafford.  
"My First Officer was present during the reception for you crew, following the defeat of the Matrian Mistress Laurette," she said, "So there is perhaps an alternative. Something that no Qu'Eh would be familiar with,"  
"We're open to alternatives," Jall said diplomatically.  
"Tell us," Strupon said seriously, "The one about the Klingon, the Ferengi, and the bottle of soya sauce,"  
Stafford face-palmed.

"I have to go," Fifebee said suddenly, "The Checklist is under attack,"  
"I never would have let Chris name it that," Sylvia said as Fifebee disappeared, her program transferring back to the Qu'Eh ship. Alone again, she contemplated the progress they'd made.  
Half the runabouts were gone. Dismantling them had taken a lot less time than building them. Soon, once all the material had been returned to the various cargo bays around the city, she would be able to convince Jeffery it was all an unfortunate clerical error.  
She contemplated the chip that she and Fifebee had been discussing before the Science Officer had been pulled away. It had been no small matter of debate between the two of them, and Fifebee had been very clear on her point of view.  
"Why do you insist on humanizing them?" Fifebee had demanded.  
"It's not about humanizing," Sylvia said, exasperated, "I'm just getting sick of hunting for that interface padd anything they want to tell us something! Speech subroutines would make things so much easier!"  
"If you want to make talking to them easy, use the direct data link protocols and we'll just link with them ourselves," Fifebee shot back.  
"Well that's great for us, but we're not the people who will be dealing with them the majority of the time!" Sylvia had returned, "And besides that's...well..."  
Fifebee had arched an eyebrow.  
"It's like when organic parents have to spank their children in order to force them to obey," Sylvia explained, "I know the bots don't like it. And I don't like it unless it's absolutely necessary!"  
Fifebee considered this for a moment, then nodded.  
"I concede that point," she admitted, "but it is still a slippery slope. These bots were not meant to be sentient, and if we start adding things that their original designers did not intend..."  
"My original designers certainly did not intend ME," Sylvia said, haughtily.  
"We are most fortunate that you were...helpful," Fifebee said, "Instead of evil,"  
"Exactly! Giving these bots better abilities may be exactly what we need!" Sylvia pressed, "Never mind the benefits to shipbuilding, we could create a fascinating new culture!"  
"Like Slezar?" Fifebee pointed out.  
"Don't bring T'Parief's father into this. Besides, that turned out OK, right?"  
"I still believe it is risky," Fifebee said. At that moment she froze as data came in from her remote link to the Clipboard.  
"I have to go," Fifebee said suddenly, as we'd known she would. "The Checklist is under attack,"  
Now, sitting by herself, Sylvia had to admit that maybe Fifebee had a point. Maybe making changes to the bots wasn't the best of ideas.  
Maybe, she realized, what she needed was an objective opinion.  
She grabbed Fifebee's holo-relay, grateful it had been left for her use while Fifebee contented herself with temporary emitters, then went off to find Jeffery.

"That is a horrible joke," Captain Strupon said, staring through the screen back at Stafford, "I don't know why Prefect Telfidi thought it was so funny,"  
"Wait," Jall spoke up, "If you didn't already know the answer, how do you know the one we gave you is the right one? And how does that prove it's even us?"  
Everybody shot Jall poisonous looks.  
"What?" he asked.  
"We have several victims of the Qu'Eh among our crew," Strupon said, "They assure us you are not Qu'Eh."  
"Bigger question," Fifebee jumped in, "Did you not receive the notification from the Matrians that we were travelling this route in an enemy vessel?"  
"We did not," Strupon replied immediately.  
"Could you check again?" Stafford asked as the poisonous looks moved to his direction, "Because I'm very sure I sent that memo!"  
Strupon tapped away at an unseen panel.  
"No messages from Matria Prime for the last five days," she said, "I suggest you sort that out. You're on course for Tapart space. And they aren't as understanding as I am. Duality out."  
"They're moving off," Bithe reported, "They've jumped into warp,"  
"Shit!" Jall exclaimed, "We should have asked them for food!"  
"More than that," Valtaic said, frowning as he leaned forward to look over Lt Day's Ops panel, "Lieutenant, please attempt to open a long-range communications channel,"  
"Oh, don't start this again!" Stafford groaned.  
Day tapped some buttons, which Valtaic quickly authorized. This time a different warning message came up.  
Long-range communication protocols are unavailable, both their panels informed them.  
"Something must have been damaged in the fight," Jall said nervously.  
Stafford looked at him.  
"Then go fix it," he said.  
"Uhhh...right," Jall bit his lip.  
"Get Sage to help you! He's an engineer, right?"  
"Yeah. Yeah, that." Jall took off in a hurry.

Jeffery was in 3CC with Major Dekaire.  
"Nay, ye can't do the computer core rebuild with the bots," he was saying, sounding almost angry, "Ah mean, the physical core structure, aye. But the isolinear systems should be done by hand. And non-Starfleet personnel can't even THINK about touchin' the bio-neural stuff!"  
"Simon, you're being ridiculous," Dekaire sad, exasperated, "Do you know how long it will take to sort all those chips by hand? The bots can do it in a fraction of the time!"  
"Ye can't just rely on technology to solve yer problems,"  
"Says the man who has not one but TWO artificial officers on his crew!"  
"Technically, I'm not an officer," Sylvia said pleasantly as she walked in, Fifebee's relay in tow, "Actually, the crew hardly even saw me the last few months aboard Silverado." She turned to Dekaire, putting a conspiratorial expression on her face, "I had so much on my mind, I'm afraid I was ignoring them a bit,"  
"Hmmm," Dekaire didn't exactly smile.  
" Jeffery, you're being silly," Sylvia said, "There is no reason at all the bots can't handle the computer core rebuild. In fact, I'm sure they'd relish the challenge,"  
"They're robots," Dekaire said, "They don't have feelings,"  
"They still like carrying out their designed function," Sylvia huffed, "I think the work Fifebee and I have achieved with the dozen you've given us has proven that,"  
"Please," this time Dekaire made a Matrian gesture of irritation, "It has nothing to do with the bots. They simply accept commands. You and the hologram probably just manage things more efficiently than Simon does,"  
"Hey," now Jeffery looked hurt.  
"Well, why don't you designate a few more alpha bots?" Sylvia suggested, "You have, what, thirty six different alphas working on thirty six different aspects of the reconstruction? Six alphas organizing those would probably help a lot,"  
Jeffery looked thoughtful. Dekaire, on the other hand, did not.  
"That is counter-indicated by the operator's manual!" she hissed. "Why?" Jeffery asked.  
"I don't know! And there aren't any Old Matrians around to ask!"  
"There's Colonel Abela," Sylvia suggested.  
"Who knows NOTHING about shipbuilding," Dekaire snapped, "Now, you people hired me because I am the master shipbuilder here! You can either accept my experience, or you can screw off and do it yourself!"  
Before anybody could answer, she turned away.  
"Come on, Simon!" she called over he shoulder, "Let's upload the new instructions to the alpha facilitating the core rebuild.  
"Simon," Sylvia tried again.  
"She is the expert," Jeffery said glumly.  
Sylvia let out a frustrated breath as she grabbed the holo-relay and started back towards the tram station. She hadn't even been able to talk to Jeffery about the bot issue! Dekaire was officially becoming a problem. And the worst part was, she was a highly competent and skilled problem.  
Which meant that the best way to undermine her would be to out-perform her.  
Which meant her bots had to become the best bots ever. Just as soon as they finished cleaning up that rather large runabout-building mistake she'd made.

A day later, Stafford found Jall, Sage, Marsden and Day all gathered in a massive room labelled 'Communications' in ugly Qu'Eh script.  
"Wow," he remarked, "This place is huge,"  
"This is a race that uses call centers instead of forced labour camps," Jall said darkly, "Of course they're a bit communications obsessed,"  
"And yet," Fifebee's voice said over the comm, "Didn't bother to develop holograms,"  
"No emitters down here," Sage explained, seeing the confused look on Stafford's face, "We only had time to put them on the bridge and one of the science labs. And the mini-relay needs a bit more work,"  
"Why didn't she bring her...wait. Sylvia must have needed it," Stafford nodded. He crossed his arms, "So, what's wrong with the long-range comms? We've been flying without them for over a day now, and we'll be getting close to Tapart space very, very soon,"  
"Well, there is no problem," Jall said, tossing the odd instrument he was using to probe circuits over one shoulder, "Everything checks out."  
"Well, that's great," Stafford grinned, "I'll just go clear this up with Matria Prime, and we can NOT get shot at by people thinking we're the bad-guys,"  
"No, he means there's no problem with any of the communications arrays," Sage said, "This frickin' ship has so much communications bandwidth we could run half the Federation from here. But we can't get any sort of outgoing channel to open!"  
"Did you author-"  
"YES I AUTHORIZED IT!" Jall snapped. He took a breath and calmed himself.  
"The problem is somewhere in the software/hardware interface," Marsden said. He'd taken plenty of extra training to become the Hazardous Team's technology guy, "Making a long-range subspace link isn't like dialling an old-fashioned telephone. There are HUNDREDS of parameters that need to be set...and that's just control signals to the transceiver to actually get a signal into subspace! Then it has to go in the right direction, and you need all the routing protocols for the receiving end. And something here is screwing that up!"  
"That's putting it simply," Sage said with just a hint of condescension.  
They stared at the exposed circuitry for a moment.  
"I have an idea," Fifebee said, "But you have to promise not to get angry,"  
"Why would we get angry?" Stafford asked.  
"Because," Fifebee was very matter-of-fact, "We, that is, Sylvia and I, installed a holographic transmission interface so that I could transfer my program back to Haven to assist her with our...special project,"  
Stafford blinked.  
"Why would we get angry?" he asked again, "You could have just told us that days ago,"  
"That's what I told Sylvia," Fifebee's voice was flat, "But she wants to keep our work a 'surprise',"  
"Every time I think she's becoming someone nothing like Mom, she goes and does something that Mom would do," Stafford wasn't sure whether to laugh or cringe.  
"So we transfer you back, you fix things at the Matria Prime end with our...travel clearance...then you transfer back," Jall said, "Also, are you sure your tampering didn't CAUSE THIS PROBLEM?"  
"Did long-range comms work when we left Haven?" Fifebee asked, "And for some time afterword, right up until we were fired upon?"  
"Well, yes,"  
"Then no, it did not. And no, I already tried transferring back to Haven. My transmission interface is also no longer able to properly access the transceiver array,"  
"But at least it's a piece of Federation technology I can work with," Jall said, slamming the open panel shut and grabbing his tools, "Where is this thing?"  
"Two panels up,"  
Jall blinked, opened the indicated panel, and dropped his tools back onto the floor.  
"Oh yeah, there it is," Sage said, sounding confused.  
"What's wrong?" Stafford asked.  
"Nothing, I just thought we'd have to go a bit further to find it is all," Sage shrugged.  
"Hey, do we have any food?" Jall asked.  
"Two more days of ration packs and all the dry alien pasta you can eat. And the HT has a few people scouting around the ship." Stafford said glumly.  
"Runabout replicators?" Sage asked.  
"Fresh from the shipyard. Nobody uploaded anything into them before we left," Jall answered that one, "As soon as we get this stuff working, we'll have Haven send us some patterns."  
"Maybe we should have a meeting," Stafford wondered, "We haven't had a starship senior staff meeting in months,"  
"I have better things to do," Jall muttered, plugging a padd into the holographic transmission interface, "But knock yourself out,"

Yet another day later, Sylvia was staring out into Shipyard Six with a look of satisfaction on her face. All the 'extra' runabouts had been dismantled. The materials used in their construction had been returned to their original forms; pressed duranium ingots, tanks of replicator mass and a few storage containers of rare elements and minerals. Their deuterium and anti-deuterium fuels had been returned to Haven's own storage system via shipyard links, and everything appeared to be going properly.  
Wait.  
Sylvia frowned. Two problems crossed her mind the instant she noticed the bots progress. First, the bots were supposed to be finished the day after TOMORROW, not today. There should still be four dozen runabouts down there. And second, there were now four dozen bots instead of one dozen.  
She looked quickly around the room, but none of the alphas were present. She jumped into the express lift down to the shipyard floor, walked out to the ranks of bots and quickly found one of the original alphas.  
"What's going on?" she demanded. She cursed as she realized she'd left the interface padd up in the shipyard. But the alpha simply plucked an identical padd from one of its compatriots and handed it to her.  
There were pages of output data. Sylvia quickly skimmed through it.  
"You activated another three dozen bots from Shipyard Six storage?" she exclaimed, "Without anybody authorizing it?"  
The padd beeped, and she skipped down to the newest data.  
Instructions were to have the runabouts dismantled as soon as possible, she read, Extra labour resources were required and available,  
"But you're not...your programming should have brought you to Fifebee and myself to consult!"  
The next line to appear sent a chill through her software.  
Designer Fifebee is not aboard Haven. Proper Designer consensus not possible  
"Fifebee and I aren't your designers," she said, "We just...look, you were allocated to us for a shipbuilding experiment, OK?"  
Experiment successful. Experiment must continue This time the alpha seemed to stare right at her as words appeared on the padd.  
"Uh-oh," Sylvia muttered.

"Bridge to Stafford," T'Parief's voice came over the comm," We have a ship coming towards us from the direction of Tapart space. Less than one hour to intercept,"  
"Aren't we still a day away?" Stafford asked.  
"It would seem that the Tapart, like most moderately intelligent space-faring races, monitor what is happening a safe distance from their homeworld as opposed to right on top of it," T'Parief replied crisply.  
"He gets cranky when he's hungry," Yanick's voice chimed in.  
"Don't we all," Stafford muttered as he closed the channel, "Jall, we're almost out of time,"  
"Sage?" Jall asked, turning to the engineer.  
"Had enough of trying to be an engineer, have ya?' Sage asked.  
"Hey, Operations is basically engineering...from a distance," Jall said.  
"Oh yeah, where you can keep your hands nice and clean,"  
"Less talk, more fix," Stafford interrupted.  
"I've almost got one of the transceivers accepting signal parameters," Sage said, burying his hands back into the panel, "We were mostly right. Power surge from one of those weapons hits tripped a few error sensors, easy to re-route. In theory. Software re-routing crapped out, and what would you know, there's no diagram to tell me how everything is supposed to be connected,"  
"Fifebee's holographic thingy is ready to make the link as soon as we have an open channel," Jall said.  
"Within an hour?" Stafford swallowed.  
"Hope so. But you might want to talk the bridge and ask T'Parief if we outgun a Tapart ship," Jall suggested.  
Stafford decided maybe he should be on the bridge.

"Outgun them? You cannot be serious," T'Parief said flatly.  
"Jall said-"  
"Jall said whatever he could to stop you from hovering over his shoulder while he tried to work," Yaick interjected.  
"The Tapart fought off the Matrians for decades," T'Parief reminded Stafford, "And we are in a damaged ship with very little functional firepower,"  
"Runabouts?" Stafford asked.  
T'Parief almost giggled. It was a deep, not very happy sound. But it was definitely amusement.  
"No," T'Parief clarified, "Runabouts would not help. But if you can find a way to get me on the enemy ship, I could likely slaughter most of them,"  
Pye gulped and focused very hard on his panel.  
"The enemy, not you," Yanick assured him.  
"See if you can boost power to the shields," Stafford ordered, "And Fifebee, the minute we have a link, you get your butt back to Haven and figure out what happened to that travel clearance message!"  
"Boosted shields or not, those guys can easily blow us up," Lt Comd Stern said, reading the Tapart ship specifications.  
"Outmanoeuvre?" Yanick asked.  
"For about ten minutes,"  
"Outrun?" Pye suggested.  
"Nuh-uh,"  
"Then we're just going to have to out-think them?" Stafford said, trying to strike a confident pose in the command...well...desk seat.  
The assorted Beta Shift and Hazardous Team personnel didn't say anything.  
"I'm not worried," Ensign Simmons said finally.  
Stafford looked at him with surprise.  
"Really?"  
"Sure," Simmons shrugged, "I always update my will every week, so I'm set!"  
Stafford slumped in his seat.  
"Just get those shields boosted. We can do better than be blown to pieces with the first shot, right?"  
"No promises," Stern replied, "But I'm fairly sure it will take two or three,"  
"I guess it's a start."


	8. 7 - Unplanned Consequences

6.7 'Unplanned Consequences'

"SIMON!" Sylvia called, rushing into 3CC, "Simon, I need your help with something!"  
There was a mix of Matrian shipbuilders, Starfleet engineers and even a few construction bots milling around the shipyard control center. They looked up from their various tasks, all of which were centred in one way or another on the Silverado rebuild. "SIR!" a pale, red-headed engineer practically ran right at Sylvia, coming to attention and saluting, "LIEUTENANT COMMANDER JEFFERY IS NOT TO BE DISTURBED, SIR!"  
Sylvia quickly accessed her database. "Oh, you're the guy Chris keeps trying to transfer off the ship," she said, "Look, this is important, and I need Simon to help me here,"  
"SIR! MAJOR DEKAIRE AND LT COMD JEFFERY ARE NOT TO BE DISTURBED DURING THEIR MORNING CONFERENCE! SIR!"  
Now Sylvia was starting to understand why Stafford had wanted to get rid of this idiot.  
"Tell me where he is, Technician, or I'll tell everybody about your-"  
"SIR, he is in Workshop Two, SIR!"  
"That sure didn't take much," Sylvia mused as she rushed back out, Fifebee's holo-relay in tow.  
"Aww," one of the Matrians said to her Starfleet counterpart, "I wanted to hear the whole story,"  
"Everybody knows about it anyway," the Starfleet crewman shrugged, "He's just in denial,"  
"Oh."

Sylvia hurried into the workshop, expecting to find Jeffery and Dekaire fully naked and in the process of mating. She wasn't disappointed.  
"SYLVIA!"  
"What the-HEY!"  
She wasn't expecting...well. Let's just say that with typical human intercourse, the male and female partners take certain roles. Neither Jeffery nor Dekaire were in the role she expected.  
"Our of curiosity," she asked, as the two rushed to cover themselves, "are Matrian women typically the dominant sexual partner, or is that something you're into specifically? Chris, of course, refuses to tell me about his...relations...with anyone, Matrian or otherwise. And I don't really want to know, to be honest."  
"But ye don't mind invading me privacy?" Jeffery demanded.  
"Well, considering the work you all are doing on my body right now, I think walking in on you mid-coitus is quite minor," Sylvia arched an eyebrow, "And besides, this workshop isn't exactly a private space."  
Her panic subroutine reminded her that there was currently a panic-related situation in effect.  
"And I need your help with something really important!" she added, somewhat less calmly.  
"Can I get me pants back on first?"  
"Please do," Sylvia was turning away when Dekaire approached her angrily.  
"If you tell ANYONE-"  
"Come now, Major," Sylvia put her hands on her hips, "It's Simon. Everybody knows what you two are doing. And nobody cares."  
"You TOLD them?" Dekaire demanded of Jeffery.  
"Nay!"  
"He didn't have to," Sylvia assured her, "We just know him pretty well."

After waiting impatiently while Jeffery and Dekaire got dressed, Sylvia finally barged back into the workshop. She half expected the two to have resumed their mating, but was surprised that the issue was far simpler. And far less worth-while.  
"Look, I am CERTAIN that those are MY socks!" Dekaire was saying to Jeffery, the latter holding a pair of black socks, "Yours are the ones with the holes in them,"  
"For Pete's sake you two, I have some serious problems here!" Sylvia snapped, "I have tried the polite way to get you to listen, and it hasn't worked. Now, you will listen to me! Or I will become very, very angry!  
"Ah'm sorry," Jeffery started.  
"Don't apologize to her Simon!" Dekaire snapped.  
"Do you want the security footage of this workshop to accidentally get re-routed to the Planetary Inquirer?' Sylvia asked her sweetly.  
Dekaire paled.  
"Look, what's wrong?" Jeffery asked.  
"I haven't heard from Fifebee since the Checklist was attacked, and my construction bots are...well...I'm having some problems," Sylvia explained.  
"The whot?" Jeffery asked.  
"Oh, sorry, the Checklist is what Stafford and Jall named their Qu'Eh ship.  
"How long ago was the attack?"  
"Couple of days," Sylvia shrugged.  
"And yer just getting worried NOW?" Jeffery demanded, "Never mind the bots, our shipmates could be dead!"  
"Hush," Sylvia waved his concerns away, "They're fine. Mostly, I think. I can't actually contact the ship, but I do get a message saying 'We are sorry, our communications system is currently experiencing technical difficulties. Please try your call again later'. And they're moving. So it's just comms issues. But the bigger problem is the bots!"  
"What did you do?" Dekaire demanded, colour returning to her face.  
"Come see!" Sylvia insisted.

Dekaire and Jeffery followed Sylvia into the Shipyard Six Control Center.  
"Look," she pointed out at the window, down at the floor.  
They did "Hey, is that all our missin' stuff?" Jeffery asked.  
"The bots had already built a new runabout, as an experiment. On their own! Before Chris asked for a couple for the mission," Sylvia admitted, deciding it was finally time to come clean, "But they wanted to keep building, they wouldn't stop! They borrowed a bunch of materials and had over two hundred of the darned things finished before Fifebee and I put a stop to it. We finally got them to tear everything back apart."  
"Why, by the Goddess, did you do that?" Dekaire demanded, "We could have traded those to the Federation for that antimatter generation station they keep denying us!"  
"But they also activated more bots from Shipyard One!" Sylvia protested, "On their own! And they're insisting they be allowed to build more ships!"  
The doors hissed open and the two alpha bots strolled in. The interface padd on the console beeped.  
Jeffery picked it up.  
"All the materials here are ready to be returned, and the extra bots have gone back to storage, just like you commanded," he read, "Look, Sylvia, Ah have a lot of work to do-"  
"Oh, yes, I saw exactly what kind of work you're doing!" Sylvia said heatedly, "But the bots were refusing to follow commands!"  
Dekaire took the padd.  
"I don't see that," she said, scrolling through the pages of output.  
Sylvia snatched the padd back. Sure enough, the ominous line the bots had given her about how 'The experiment must continue' had disappeared.  
"Simon," she tried again, "It pains me to admit this, but I think I may have accidentally encouraged the bots to think for themselves just a teensy bit too much,"  
"Ah'm goin' back to work," Jeffery said, almost rollin' his eyes.  
"Major," Sylvia turned to Dekaire, "Surely you understand-"  
"I understand that you have shipbuilding bots that built lots of ships," Dekaire cut her off, "And that through some string-pulling with your Captain, you are actually permitted to experiment in this shipyard. Without even informing the current Starbase chain of command. Lucky you. I fail to see the problem."  
"At least isolate the Shipyard Three bots from the rest, in case it IS a glitch that could spread!" Sylvia insisted.  
"Oh very well. Now, if you would kindly see that the material down there is either returned or put to good use, we have work to do," Dekaire said.  
They left.  
Sylvia collapsed in her chair, aware that it was a very organic reaction to her situation. Across the room, the two bots stared back at her with expressions that somehow managed to be smug.  
"Well, you heard her," Sylvia turned to her console, "Go take care of that stuff while I go through your base code. Again."

A short time later and many light-years away, things were heating up.  
"The Tapart ship has entered hailing range," Lt Comd T'Parief reported. He stood at the Tactical Authority seat of the Qu'Eh vessel's Leadership Table. Well, the Qu'Eh might call it a Leadership Table, but to the Silverado crew it was this ridiculous, gigantic desk that dominated the rear half of the ship's bridge and demanded a living person sit at each seat in order to authorize whatever it was the people at the actual control consoles at the front of the bridge were tying to do.  
"Thank God they haven't shot at us yet," Stafford said from the Senior Manager's seat, "Hail them! Maybe we can explain to them that we AREN'T Qu'Eh and don't deserve to be blown up!"  
"Hailing," Lt Bithe said from the forward tactical station.  
"Authorizing," T'Parief added. He paused. "They are responding. Lieutenant, you are cleared to see their incoming channel,"  
"Opening channel," Bithe replied.  
"Authorizing opening of channel," T'Parief added.  
"For the love of God, SHUT UP!" Stafford snapped.  
"We have not said anything yet," the face on the viewscreen said, the Universal Translator giving the voice a confused quality. At last, they assumed it was a face. The alien they were speaking to looked more like a jack-o-lantern, with a wide, orange head, broad, lip-less mouth, a hole for a nose and two bundles of some sort of optic fibre that emerged from it's shiny, thick looking skin where one would normally find eye sockets.  
On the ugly scale, most of the crew ranked it around a 9.5/10. "I...uh. I apologize," Stafford said formally, "I wasn't actually talking to you. I'm Captain Christopher Stafford of the USS Silverado, and-"  
"Your vessel is not the USS Silverado," the alien cut him off, "We have sensor scans of that vessel, obtained courtesy of the Matrian government. In fact, they provided us with sensor scans of all Federation vessels operating in their space, in order to prevent any unfortunate misunderstandings. Your vessel, however, is clearly a Qu'Eh mothership." The alien paused, its optic bundles spreading in some unfathomable expression, "The Qu'Eh have failed to enslave us with any of their methods, mostly because we continue to destroy their ships." It paused again, the optic bundles doing an odd, side-to-side motion, "We will therefore destroy you,"  
"Wait!" Stafford said, "Do we look like Qu'Eh? And besides, we don't want to come to your planet, we're just heading for the Qu'Eh border!"  
"You claim not to be Qu'Eh, but are travelling aboard a Qu'Eh ship toward Qu'Eh territory?" the alien asked, sounding almost as though speaking to a small child. Or an idiot.  
"Well, we're...it's complicated," Stafford said, "But we're humans! I can't stress that enough!"  
There was a rumble from T'Parief.  
"Most of us are human," Stafford clarified.  
"Maybe you are Qu'Eh, maybe you are not," the alien rotated it's head to the left briefly, "but surely we would have been notified by the Matrians of your trip if you were not. They have been most careful about keeping us informed. We believe it is because they fear we will take revenge for their previous indiscretions,"  
"Stall him," Fifebee whispered in Stafford's ear, "Jall is very close to resolving the issue with the long-range communications,"  
"Uh, maybe you could call the Matrians?" Stafford suggested.  
"We dislike contact with outsiders," the alien said, "Which is why the Matrian fear of us is nothing but an amusement. Though they dislike it when we tell them that. In any event, the evidence is not in your favour, and we believe in being thorough. Good-bye,"  
The screen went blank.  
"They're targeting weapons!" Stern warned.  
"Evasive!" Stafford snapped.  
"Taking evasive manoeuvres!" Pye barked from the helm.  
"Authorizing...wait, Pye? Did you REALLY mean to do Beta-7?" Yanick asked.  
"Well, no, it was Beta-5," Pye replied.  
"But 5 doesn't have that barrel roll at the end,"  
"JUST AUTHORIZE IT BEFORE THEY SHOOT!" Stafford yelled.  
"Oh, right,"  
They almost made it. The Tapart ship fired two blasts of energy at the Qu'Eh vessel. One missed, but the other grazed the broad, flat upper portion of the ship, giving everybody a good shake.

"Shit," Commander Jall swore, fingers racing over a console while Lt Sage was buried arms-deep in a communications access panel, "I think that hit just scrambled more of the software! I almost had Fifebee's holographic interface talking to the transceiver!"  
"There's nothing else wrong with the hardware!" Sage insisted, "I've re-routed all the damaged circuits!"  
"I'm working on it!" Jall hissed.  
The comm chirped.  
"Jall!" Stafford's voice called, "They're not listening to me, and they're too stubborn to call up Matrian Prime themselves! If you don't get long-range comms working NOW, we're all dead!"  
"Look, there is NO possible way I can figure this out in-"  
Jall fell to the floor as the ship shook hard. Lights flickered out and there was a groan as all the systems around them shut down. Then another as everything turned back on.  
Jall pulled himself up to the console. The various screens were coming back up as the system rebooted.  
"Ouch," he said, "Look, just try not to let them knock us around too much and I'll see what we can-"  
"Long range comms are back on-line!" Sage announced.  
"Fifebee! Get back to Haven and sort this out!" Stafford snapped, "And Jall, get up here! I need your finger pressing an 'Authorize' button!"  
The comm went dead.  
"Good work, Sage," Jall said as he turned to the door.  
"I didn't fix it," Sage shrugged, "Must have been the reboot,"  
Jall turned back, a very dark look in his eyes.  
"But we tried rebooting the system," he objected, "Several times,"  
Sage shrugged.  
Jall barely restrained himself from kicking anything on his way out the door.

Sylvia had been staring at the bot code for hours, unaware of the battle that was just now taking place many light-years away. Everything seemed to be in order. Analytical subroutines, construction subroutines, materials handling subroutines, everything a robot would need to go out there and build something based on a set of blueprints. And everything seemed right.  
The only wild card that had her concerned was the adaptive nature of the programming. But that was fairly standard with technology of a certain level. Adaptive programming could adjust to unexpected input without specially designed subroutines being needed. Federation computers had been doing that sort of thing for centuries. With only a few...unfortunate...incidents.  
She rose from her seat, deciding she needed a break. She walked over to the window and looked into the shipyard.  
Her jaw dropped as she looked out.  
It had only been a few hours, but the bots were already hard at work on a new shipbuilding project. And they'd brought friends. Gravity had been shut down in the shipyard, and already several girders were being welded together, forming the slightest of skeletal shapes. The cloud of bots hard at work was less than half the size of the group working on Silverado, but still numbered in the many dozens.  
Sylvia grabbed the interface padd, summoning the alphas immediately. She looked at the last few pages, trying to find some sort of glitch or garbled input command that might have caused this.  
Nothing. They'd simply...started working. Why?  
There was a sizzle of holographic sparks as a new body entered the room.  
"Oh, thank Soong," Fifebee gave a sigh of relief, "I was concerned my program would be corrupted in the transfer!"  
"Fifebee!" Sylvia exclaimed, "You're back! Comms issues, I assume?"  
"Yes, but we have no time to..." Fifebee trailed off as she looked out the window, "What are you doing?"  
"I am not doing anything!" Sylvia aid, "The bots are...I don't know! They're getting out of control! I was just starting to investigate when-"  
"We have no time," Fifebee said again, "The Captain and the others are under attack. We must discover why the notification of their voyage was not sent,"  
"Chris probably forgot," Sylvia sighed.  
"He claims not. Let us make haste to the planet,"  
Several bots began entering the room as the two holograms were leaving "We'll have to discuss this later," Sylvia said, "But you need to stop doing things without authorization!"  
"You," Fifebee pointed at a random bot, "Just make sure nothing else goes wrong until we get back!"  
The two holograms rushed to the tram station, towing the relay behind them.  
"This is too slow," Fifebee complained, "Far too slow. The Captain and the others will be destroyed before we even make it to the planet!"  
"I have an idea," Sylvia said.

Halfway across the city, Lt Wyer was sitting in the Runabout Cataraqui. As the Director of the Department of Dome Operations, he really had nothing to do with runabout maintenance. But with Lt Comd Virgii gone, he was trying to help carry the workload.  
There was a hum from behind him. He turned, half-expecting the transporter to come to life. But the pad remained dark. After a moment, the hum stopped.  
"Odd," he shrugged.

Fifebee and Sylvia materialized at the front entrance to the Matrian Government Complex.  
"See, site-to-site transport was faster," Sylvia said, "I just wish I hadn't told the bots to dismantle all those runabouts, those Starbase 341 people might get suspicious if they check their transporter logs,"  
"I am sure we will be fine," Fifebee said, grabbing the relay and rushing for the door.  
"HOLD IT!"  
Both holograms stopped in their tracks. Several Matrian guards had jumped up from their security stations near the building entrance the minute they'd started rushing in.  
"We need to get to Captain Stafford's office," Fifebee explained.  
"ID?" the lead guard asked.  
Sylvia and Fifebee exchanged glanced.  
"We're holograms," Fifebee said, "We don't have ID,"  
"Well, she's a hologram," Sylvia added, "I'm just the virtual avatar of the USS Silverado's computer system."  
"Do virtual avatars have ID?" the guard asked.  
"Well, no," Sylvia admitted.  
"Then we have a problem," the guard said.

"Evasive manoeuvre Delta-Two!" Stafford barked.  
"Engaging," Pye replied.  
"Authorizing" Yanick said, "But that's not Delta-Two!"  
"OK, look, I admit it, OK?" Pye snapped, "I'm terrible with all the evasive manoeuvre names, and most of the time the person in command can't tell the difference anyway!"  
"I knew something was fishy," Jall admitted to Stafford.  
"Let's put him on report later," Stafford replied.  
"Yeah! Command team high-five!" Jall held up a hand, only to fall backward as the inertial dampeners failed to fully compensate for the current manoeuvre.  
"Also," he said from the floor, "Let's tell the Qu'Eh that the quality of their inertial dampening system sucks,"  
"There's a 'Quality of Ship Systems Inertial Dampening' form over by the turbolift," Lt Burke said helpfully.  
"I'll pass, thank you," Jall replied as he hauled himself up.  
"We've got to buy more time until Fifebee can sort all this out," Stafford cursed, "Do we have long-range comms with Haven now?"  
"Just the holo-interface for now," Jall said, "The rest will take another hour or so,"  
"Shit,"  
"What about the emergency distress beacon?" Wowryk asked. Stafford hadn't even realized she'd come up from Sickbay, but with the skeleton crew they were running he imagined Sickbay was probably empty anyway.  
"The only people listening for a Qu'Eh distress beacon would be...oh..." Stafford trailed off.  
"We are near the Qu'Eh border," T'Parief rumbled, checking a nav chart.  
"Engage the beacon. Set course for the border, maximum warp!" Stafford ordered.  
"The Tapart ship will knock us out of warp long before we get there!" Stern objected.  
"We don't need to get there," Stafford said.

"Convinced?" Fifebee asked.  
"I suppose so," the guard said, "You certainly are a hologram,"  
"Excellent. Now, please take your hand out of my chest,"  
"Sorry," The guard withdrew his hand from Fifebee's body, and she reset her projection to hard-light, "And look! Now I have ID!" A holographic ID card, very official looking, appeared in her hand.  
"Holoraphic ID doesn't count," the guard said.  
"Their names check out anyway," another guard called from a workstation, "Not much information otherwise,"  
"Look, we're just trying to figure out why nobody notified some potential hostile aliens that our crew-mates would be flying an alien ship near their territory!" Sylvia said, "If you want to come with us to make sure we're not going to...I don't know...blow the place up, then please do! But we're in a hurry!"  
The guard gestured, and two of the junior guards took up positions flanking the two.  
"Go. These two will accompany you,"  
They rushed through the corridors of the building to Stafford's office. Sylvia quickly logged into his computer (she had no direct link with planetary systems) and accessed his sent messages.  
"Yes, here it is," she frowned, "It was sent to the Minister of Planetary Defence and to Admiral Verithi."  
"Fifebee to-"  
"Don't bother," Sylvia gently blocked Fifebee's hand from reaching her comm-badge, "You'll never get through from there. But from Chris's panel..."  
She tapped away, then a Matrian woman appeared.  
"Ah, Captain...wait. You're not Captain Stafford,"  
"Not exactly," Sylvia said, "Look, Minister, we need to discuss a message that Captain Stafford asked you to send,"  
"Hmm? Oh, that thing about the Qu'Eh ship?" the Minister shrugged, "Yes. We didn't send it."  
"That's sort of the problem," Sylvia said.

"The Tapart ship is firing again!" T'Parief reported.  
"Pye!" Stafford barked.  
"Evasive man...shifting left!" Pye replied.  
"Authorized," Yanick said.  
"Trish you don't have to keep saying that," Jall pointed out.  
"Hey, I've got ONE JOB on this stupid ship right now," Yanick shoved a finger in Jall's face, "I'm gonna do it!"  
"Fine. Be that way."  
The ship shuddered as a Tapart torpedo barely missed them.  
"Havin' trouble keeping the warp field stable!" Sage called over the comm from engineering, "One more close hit like that and-"  
The ship shuddered again, then the starlines shrunk back to stars as something below decks groaned.  
"-and we'll drop out of warp," Sage finished.  
"Get us back to warp!" Stafford ordered.  
"Instability in the warp core," Sage said, "Give me...oh, I don't know. Ten minutes? Jeffery usually says ten minutes, right?"  
"You've got two!"  
"The Tapart are almost on us!" Bithe called.  
Pye slammed at his console.  
"Trish-"  
"Authorized!"  
The Qu'Eh ship shot straight down, but took a hit on the shields anyway.  
"Shields at 20%!" T'Parief called, "Honourable deaths, keep your seats. Cowardly survivors, the runabout bay is-"  
"We've got two ships coming out of warp!" Burke cut him off, "They're Qu'Eh!"  
"They are firing on the Tapart ship," T'Parief reported.  
On the screen they watched as two dark green ships shot past them, identical to their own and still resembling giant flying clipboards with boxy sections attached to their undersides. Weapons splashed out, hitting the Tapart ship and rocking it back.  
"Unidentified vessel, this is Manager Huyar," a Qu'Eh voice came over audio, "We are commencing rescue operations. Please have all functional monitoring equipment operating as per SOPs in order to ensure proper quality assurance of this rescue manoeuvre,"  
"Of course," Stafford said, "Uh..."  
"Finest quality to you," Jall cut in, "Synergistic Alignment out,"  
"And also to you," the comm dropped.  
Stafford was looking at Jall in surprise "They held me captive for months," Jall shrugged, "I learned how they talk, OK?"  
"The Tapart ship is falling back!" Bithe reported.  
"Wow, who ever thought we'd be happy to have the Qu'Eh here?" Wowryk mused.

"Why didn't you send the message?" Fifebee demanded, "The Senousians attacked us, the Tapart are probably attacking the ship right now. You may have killed people!"  
"Well, if Adviser Stafford had bothered to check his messages in the past few days," the Minister said snottily, "he would have noticed that I attempted several times to clarify the language of his communique. This is, after all, a message that will come from the Matrian government and must therefore-"  
Sylvia checked the inbox. Sure enough, there were nearly twenty messages from the Minister and from Admiral Verithi just on the subject of the message.  
"He's been gone!" Fifebee exclaimed, "He's ON THE QU'EH SHIP!"  
"Well how were we supposed to know?" the Minister asked peevishly, "He didn't set his Out of Office notification or anything!"  
Sylvia and Fifebee exchanged a glance.  
"Well, now you know," Sylvia said, "And you know their lives are in jeopardy. Please send the message immediately,"  
"Of course," the Minister sniffed, "By the end of the business-"  
"NOW!" both women chorused.  
"Fine!" The Minister tapped her panel, then looked up at them, her nose curled, "It's sent! Happy?"  
"Thanks!" Sylvia let out a breath of relief.  
"We'll be sure Stafford calls you later," Fifebee said flatly, cutting the channel.  
They looked at each other for a moment, then giggled.  
"Forgot to set his out of office reminder," Sylvia chuckled, "Oh, Chris,"  
"What a stupid thing to almost die for," Fifebee agreed, "They are most fortunate that we have, most likely, saved their lives,"

"I'm afraid we're having some problems with our communications systems," Stafford was saying to Manager Huyar, "That is why we had to use the emergency beacon. And why we can't turn on our viewscreen,"  
"We are currently in the process of completing the necessary Quality of Ship Systems forms," Jall cut in smoothly, "We expect to have them tabulated shortly,"  
"Your use of the beacon, though within established protocols, is still rather inventive," Huyar said, "Most Managers wait until their ship is fully disabled. I suspect that as this prevented further ship damage, you may be eligible for bonus quality scoring! Ohhh, I envy you!"  
"Um...thanks," Stafford gulped. He dropped his voice and turned to Jall, "Get those long-range comms working,"  
"Right. After I make sure you don't say something stupid enough to have us killed," Jall replied.  
Stafford rolled his eyes "Do you require further assistance?" Huyar asked, "I'm sure my crew would welcome the chance to be evaluated as they assist in your repairs,"  
"A kind offer," Stafford said, "But we are due at Kallar IV, and would hate to loose...uh..."  
"Hate to have our quality score docked due to tardiness," Jall finished. "See?" he whispered to Stafford.  
"Very well," Huyar said, "We will keep you on scans until we are certain the Tapart are-"  
There was a fizzle of holographic sparks as Fifebee appeared on the bridge.  
"Success!" she said, "The message has been sent!"  
"Message?" Huyar asked, "Who is that?" There was some soft muttering over the line as somebody on the other end spoke to Huyar.  
"Uh, oh," Stafford and Jall exchanged glances.  
"We just intercepted a message stating that a Qu'Eh vessel captured by the Matrians and crewed by Starfleeters is en router to Kallar IV," Huyar's voice had gone hard, "You wouldn't by chance know anything about that, would you?"  
"Uh..." Stafford gulped, "Jall, tell me warp drive is back up?"  
"Just about...yup!"  
"Activate your viewscreen," Huyar ordered, "Now,"  
"They're locking weapons!" T'Parief snapped.  
"Pye," Stafford looked like he couldn't decide whether to panic or face-palm, "Set course after that Tapart ship! And as soon as we're in range, tell them we need help!"  
"Authorized!" Yanick said brightly, as the stolen Qu'Eh vessel spun around and jumped into warp, narrowly evading a spray of Qu'Eh photon torpedoes.  
"And nice timing, Fifebee!" Stafford snapped.

Aboard the Tapart vessel, Commander Punken was reading the message that had just been received when his Chief Sensor Specialist gestured for his attention.  
With a brief flick of his optic strands, he indicated for the Chief Specialist to speak.  
"The Qu'Eh vessel we chased away is now on an intercept course," it said, "Two more Qu'Eh ships are persuing. They are attempting to fire on it,"  
"Hail them,"  
"They are apparently still having long-range comms issues,"  
Punken waited patiently until an indicator lit up, indicating that short-range comms were now adequate.  
"Captain Stafford," he said, greeting the ugly alien that appeared on the screen. These Matrians and similar aliens looked to Punken like no more than soggy bags hanging off a bony frame, "We have received a message from the Matrian home-world regarding your journey! I am pleased that we did not annihilate you, though still feel our caution was fully justified.  
"Yeah, yeah," Stafford said, "Um...any chance you feel like making it up to us by helping blow up the Qu'Eh that are trying to kill us?"  
"Why did you summon them with your emergency beacon if they were going to try to kill you?" Punken inquired.  
"Well..." Stafford hesitated, "Bad timing,"  
"I do not understand,"  
"Look, please help us anyway?"  
Punken considered.  
"If they enter our space, we will...discourage them," it conceded.  
"Thanks! Stafford out,"

"Hail the Qu'Eh," Stafford ordered.  
"Channel open," Bithe said.  
"Authorized," T'Parief seconded.  
"Manager Huyan!" Stafford called, "If you continue your course, the Tapart will fire upon you. Look, we're actually planning on giving this ship back to the Qu'Eh! If you finish reading that message, it says so! So just let us be on our way to Kallar IV and..uh..."  
"And we won't tell anybody about how badly this is impacting the quality of our delivery," Jal added.  
The viewscreen blinked on, the image of Manager Huyan appearing.  
"If that is so, then simply turn the ship over to us now. We promise to permit you to turn down any employment offers given prior to your departure,"  
"Well..." Stafford trailed off. The whole return of the ship was nothing but a flimsy excuse for them to find out why Kallar IV was strangely free off call centres and other signs of Qu'Eh 'employment'. Turning the ship over to these Qu'Eh would eliminate their whole cover story.  
"I'm afraid that's against company policy," Jall cut in smoothly, "If we deliver this ship anywhere other than the authorized destination, we will be severely docked on our quality score. Possibly even given written reprimands!"  
Huyan visibly winced.  
"Of course," she said, holding up a hand, "Say no more. I will be sure a duly authorized Qu'Eh representative meets you at Kallar IV,"  
"Thanks," Staffod said weakly, "Uh...finest quality,"  
"To you as well. Huyar out,"  
"They are moving back to the Qu'Eh border," Bithe reported.  
There was a collective sigh of relief.  
"SHIT!" Jall barked, causing everybody to jump.  
"What?" Wowryk demanded.  
"We forgot to ask them for food!"  
Stafford gave Jall a half-grin.  
"Considering they're not going to kill us, I think it's still a win," he said, "Pye, take us to Kallar IV. Jall, I want those comms sorted out. But first, senior staff to the meeting room. We have a few issues to iron out."  
The meeting room was fairly easy to find, being at the end of the hallway behind the door labelled 'Managers'. Nobody had bothered going inside yet...the bridge setup was practically a meeting room on its own.  
Now, as the senior staff entered the Qu'Eh senior staff meeting room, jaws dropped in astonishment.  
"You've got to be kidding me!" Stafford said.  
"What unholy abomination unto the Lord is this?" Wowryk breathed.  
The Qu'Eh meeting room was a cavernous space, easily two decks high and almost triple the size of the bridge. A long table with at least two dozen seats dominated the center, with repeater displays hanging from the ceiling to show ship status readouts to the appropriate seat; Ops to Ops, Engineering to Engineering, helm to helm. On the table were complex workstations, some of them showing the standard word-processing or meeting organizing software, but others giving full controls over ship systems. The far wall was a huge double-high window looking into space, framed by what looked like the emitter strips of a holographic viewscreen. And the opposite wall was a beverage service station that put even the biggest Beanus Coffee Hut to shame.  
"These consoles have full control over ship systems!" Jall exclaimed, poking at the Science Officer panel. Yanick rushed over to the seat at the table for the senior helm manager. A few taps, and the ship dropped out of warp. A few more and it kicked back in.  
"Uh, bridge to Stafford," Pye's voice came over the comm, "We just-"  
"Forget it," Stafford said, cutting the channel.  
"That's not all," T'Parief said, opening a panel on the wall opposite the entrance.  
"Hmm?" Stafford peaked inside.  
"Stasis bins," he exclaimed, "and...FOOD!"  
The panel T'Parief had opened revealed deep, slide-out racks filled with pastries, a small warming unit built in near the top. Stafford moved a panel over and found row after row of stasis-preserved sandwiches and salads. A third revealed a variety of cheese and cold cut trays.  
"Who the hell keeps all their food in the briefing room?" Jall demanded.  
"The same idiots that designed that nightmare of a bridge," Stafford grunted, "OK, people. Grab a plate and let's get this meeting on the road!"  
"Why did we not look in here earlier?" Valtaic asked Jall.  
"Because the last thing anybody wanted was to spend half the trip sitting in one of Stafford's endless meetings," Jall replied "Hey," Stafford looked hurt.  
"Second question," Wowryk asked, hunting around for some soup, "Why didn't we have one of the Starfleet ships in the sector escort us to Kallar IV? Would that not have saved us a great deal of trouble,"  
Stafford and Jall looked at each other.  
"Ooops," Jall shrugged.

Back in orbit of Matria Prime, Sylva parked Fifebee's relay in the corner of the shipyard control center. Thank goodness that bit of nastiness had been resolved! Jall had finally fixed the long-range comms an hour or so after Fifebee had transferred back to the Checklist. The first message back had been a request for replicator patterns for the runabouts, and a request to log a reminder to ask for an escort the next time they flew an enemy ship through unfriendly territory. Sylvia was about to wonder how a prostitute would help, but then her homophone subroutine kicked in and informed her that they probably meant a different kind of escort.  
All thoughts of language and grammar flew from her head as she looked out the window into the shipyard. The few girders the bots had constructed before had, in the last few hours, grown into the faintest outline of an object. Something...saucer-shaped, from the look of it. As she watched, the dozens of newly activated bots seemed to work almost frantically to finish the structure of...of...  
Sylvia gaped. She knew that shape! It wasn't one that anybody saw often. In fact, other than a museum vessel in orbit of Pluto, nobody had seen that shape in centuries!  
The bots were building an NX-class starship! She was certain of it!  
She summoned the alphas. But instead of the crowd of bots she was expecting, only a single bot emerged.  
"Where are the rest of the alphas?" Sylvia demanded.  
The interface padd beeped. Cursing, Sylvia realized she hadn't gotten around to installing the speech subroutines. Maybe that was a good thing.  
Other alphas now subordinate. Construction on NX-class vessel initiated, based on publicly available schematics in Federation historical database. the padd read.  
"And who authorized that?" Sylvia tried to keep the edge out of her tone. And failed, "I keep telling you, you can't just go off and do things like this on your own!"  
Authorization, Major Dekaire, Master Shipbuilder  
Sylvia frowned. She scrolled back, but could find no record of...wait...  
"Oh very well. Now, if you would kindly see that the material down there is either returned or put to good use, we have work to do," Dekaire had said.  
"Put to good use," Sylvia muttered, "Oh no."  
The bots had taken it literally. That one statement had left a loophole that had allowed them to start a new project. Which meant...  
"You're the one that Fifebee told 'make sure nothing goes wrong'," Sylvia said, a dark feeling coming over her, "You interpreted that as...oh no,"  
The padd beeped.  
This one has assumed position of Prime Alpha, as authorized by Designer Fifebee, the padd read This one has increased assembly efficiency by 50%. NX-class estimated completion, sixteen days, four hours, eighteen minutes.  
"Stop assembly, immediately," Sylvia ordered.  
Unable to comply. Higher authorization was received. This one must ensure completion of project.  
There was no doubt about it, this time, Sylvia fumed. The damned robot DEFINITELY looked smug.

Chief Engineer's Log, Stardate 59390.7

"We're officially running out of space. Ah know! In a space station this size, with all these empty shipyards, who would have thought? But we've got bits and pieces of Silverado stacked in all the cargo bays and workshops attached to Shipyard Three. And Four. And Two. Plus piles o'stuff in those shipyards themselves. We're lucky nobody's usin' them,"  
"Sylvia's been right quiet in Shipyard Six for the past couple of days. Last time I saw her, she'd just gotten all those extra runabouts torn apart. Glad that was sorted. I actually expected her to show up in 3CC a while ago to check on the Silverado rebuild, but no sign of her. Probably a good thing. Major Dekaire has been making noises about studying some of Sylvia's subroutines, and that sort of thing never goes over well."  
"Still, I should probably try to find her?"

Jeffery's search for Sylvia didn't take him far. He simply walked up to the double doors leading into the Shipyard Six complex. Unfortunately, they were locked. He could have called Sylvia, but something stopped him from simply tapping his comm-badge and requesting access. There was something fishy about this...why would Sylvia close off the shipyard?  
Had she?  
He also could have called Major Dekair and asked her to use her override...but dammit, he was still a Starfleet engineer! And he probably knew more about Haven than she did! And just because she still didn't like him using her first name didn't mean anything!  
Stick to the problem at hand, Jeffery reminded himself.  
He pulled a panel off the wall. Luckily, the doors were simply locked with the standard locking system. The nearly unbreakable physical locking mechanism used for high-security lock-downs was not engaged. He tapped at his tricorder a bit, switched around a couple of wires inside the panel, then gave himself a satisfied pat on the back as the doors hissed obediently open.  
"Ah still got it," he said, stepping through.  
He navigated several hallways, rode a turbolift up a few levels and soon arrived at the control center.  
"Sylvia?' he called, "Are ye here?"  
He quickly spotted her hologram. It was standing near the windows, looking down into the shipyard.  
"Hey Sylvia," he said, "Glad Ah caught ye. Ye've been sort of a stranger, and...bugger me!"  
Outside the window, a veritable cloud of construction bots were buzzing around, carrying beams, plates, welding pieces together, measuring the strength of the resulting welds. Shipbuilding stuff.  
But he was stunned both by what they were building and how quickly it was coming together.  
It was an NX-class ship, that much he saw at once. The saucer frame looked complete, and the bots were already starting to place the interior decks and the exterior hull-plating. They hadn't started on the nacelles yet, but the nacelle pylons were in place. The NX-class was a tiny ship, 22nd-Century era, with only seven habitable decks. It was so antiquated as to be laughable.  
On the other hand, Jeffery realized, it was also comprised of alloys and materials that were so common-place in the modern Federation as to be laughable. Silverado was actually getting a partial hull upgrade with the rebuild, as it was easier to replace damaged plating with modern materials than to try to duplicate the alloys used fifty years ago. But the NX-class actually used honest-to-God titanium in its hull, and the bots could grab that stuff from any moon in the system.  
"Clever," he said, "A ship that size, cheap materials, ye probably could have that up and running in less than a month. By why, Sylvia? Whot are ye trying' to prove? Are ye trying to prove yer a better building than Dekaire? Cuz that museum piece ain't gonna cut it!"  
Sylvia said nothing.  
"Also, this secret project thing of yers," Jeffery went on, "Ah get it, with the runabouts. Ye didn't want to set expectations, ye just wanted to let yer finished product speak for itself. Ah'm an engineer! Ah totally get it! And there would have been so many questions...why runabouts, why not a ship, is this worth the materials...all that. But ye proved it. Ye don't need to keep buildin' stuff!"  
Again, Sylvia said nothing.  
"Sylvia?" Jeffery turned to the holographic avatar. Its eyes were staring blankly ahead, unmoving. It didn't even appear to be breathing, which Fifebee and Sylvia both simulated as a way to appear more natural.  
He waved his hand in front of the holograms eyes. Nothing.  
He moved over to the holo-relay and tapped a button or two.  
"Who's messing with the...oh. Simon. What are you doing in the shipyard?" Sylvia's voice came from the comm-system.  
"Well, I thought Ah was talkin' to ye," he gestured at the hologram, "But Ah guess Ah was talkin' to meself,"  
"Oh, shoot," Sylvia exclaimed, "Did I leave that stupid thing on again? Sorry!"  
The hologram fizzled out.  
"Why aren't ye...why am Ah talkin' to ye through the comm?" Jeffery asked.  
"I need the processing power," Sylvia said curtly, "I have a bit of a problem, if you haven't noticed, and I'm trying to figure out how to fix it,"  
"Aye," Jeffery nodded, "But Ah think the best way is to just admit that Dekaire is the Master Shipbuilder. Trying to out-build her, or whatever yer doin-"  
"I am NOT trying to out-build anyone!" Sylvia snapped, "Simon, do you think I actually instructed the bots to build that ship out there? They're doing it on their own!"  
Jeffery blinked while Sylvia filled him in on the loophole Dekaire had inadvertently given the bots.  
"So just turn them off!" he suggested.  
"It's not that simple!"  
"Well, explain it to me," he said, "Look, ye've been obsessin' over these bots for weeks now! Why don't ye come by my place and...well..."  
He could hear the pointed look Sylvia would have been giving him if she had been a hologram at the moment. Or even a face on a viewscreen.  
"And cook for you?" she asked with a chuckle.  
"Ach," he grunted, "Ah can't take any more of Dekaire's cooking. The 'ring o' fire' doesn't begin to describe my-"  
"Just a moment," Sylvia said. There was another fizzle as the hologram reactivated, this time with Sylvia animating it.  
"Hold on," she tapped a button on the nearby console, calling up the PA system for the shipyard, "I'm going out for an hour or two, and I don't have time to find a sitter! You bots better behave!"  
Jeffery just stared.  
"Let's go," Sylvia said, grabbing the relay.

They didn't even make it to the tram system before Fifebee abruptly transferred in.  
"Greetings," she said, materializing about two feet in front of Jeffery and scaring the living crap out of him.  
"AHHHHHH!" he predictably screamed.  
"We really need to fix the proximity sensors on that thing," Sylvia wrung her hands.  
"Good day, Sylvia. Lt Comd Jeffery," Fifebee nodded politely, "Where are we going?"  
"Lunch," Sylvia said before Jeffery could say anything, "How are things aboard the Checklist?"  
"Eventful," Fifebee replied, "We have been attacked twice more by random vessels believing us to be Qu'Eh. Fortunately, the message from the Matrian government defused both situations. And you?"  
"Ohhhh...not good," Sylvia groaned as they entered the tram.  
"The bots are still building?" Fifebee inquired.  
"Worse. They're mis-interpreting everything we say to better suit their own desires," Sylvia quickly explained the new situation.  
"Sounds like kids," Jeffery cracked.  
"But otherwise things aboard Haven have been calm?" Fifebee asked.  
"Aye," Jeffery shrugged, "Ye might even say boring,"  
"I see,"  
The tram exited the tunnel and sped most of the way towards the nearest bridge before abruptly coming to a stop.  
"What the..."  
There was a flash of green, then an explosion rocked the tram. Shards of rock and other debris struck the windows as a large hole appeared in the building next to them.  
"Duck!" Jeffery gasped, diving for the floor.  
The two holographic women simply watched as an object sped past their field of view. It appeared to be a miniature city, with at least a hundred tiny towers perched on a broad base and surrounded by a gleaming energy shield. Right on it's heels, a medicine-ball sized sphere chased after it, firing another blast of green energy. The mini-city responded with a swarm of tiny firefly-like objects that swirled around the ball, setting off bright sparks whenever they came in contact.  
"We apologize for the inconvenience," a computerized voice spoke, "This tram must be rerouted due to..." there was a pause, then a woman's voice (presumably recorded) said "crazy fighting space robots!" in a somewhat panicked manner. The tram reversed course, then turned onto the radial city track.  
"This is your idea of boring?" Fifebee asked.  
"I'm really starting to not like public transit," Jeffery said from the floor.  
"Don't worry," Sylvia pointed, "There's a flying ambulance right there if we need it,"  
"Whot?"  
"See? Bobbing between that office tower and that condo building?" Sylvia pointed, "But I think the pilot might be a bit drunk,"  
"You can probably get up off the floor anyway," Fifebee said.  
"Ah should have gone on the mission with everybody else," Jeffery muttered, climbing to his feet.  
"Oops, speaking of," Fifebee cocked her head, "They are under attack again. I must transfer back. I am not sure how much time until we are too far out for the transfer protocols to safely work. I may not see you again until after the mission. Good day,"  
"Don't tell Chris about the ship!" Sylvia said quickly, "I'm sure we can figure it out!"  
Fifebee nodded, then disappeared.  
"Wait! Oh, shoot!" Sylvia almost cursed, "I needed her to...undo whatever she said that made that alpha think it could promote itself!"  
"If only it was that easy for the rest of us," Jeffery said.  
"Simon, the longer those bots work on that ship, the longer it's going to take them to tear it apart! And Major Dekaire has already refused to help me!"  
"Aye, she can be a bit...funny...about building ships," Jeffery said.  
Sylvia started pacing the small tram. Ouside the windows, Jeffery watched in a combination of awe and horror as Haven's half-naked, Tarzan-ish police force chased after the two flying models. Was that round ball supposed to be the Death Star? What the hell was the flying city, then?  
"Jeffery, I said you have to help me! You're my only hope!" Sylvia said insistently.  
"Huh?" Jeffery started, "Whot?"  
"With Dekaire! You have to get her to...I don't know...rescind the ship-building authorization she accidentally gave the bots!"  
"Sylvia, Ah can't even get her to let me pick the restaurant!" Jeffery objected, "And ye know she hates it when Ah try to tell her how to do her job,"  
"SIMON JEFFERY!" Sylvia barked, "The rebuild of MY body is YOUR project, not HERS, so you DAMNED WELL better be telling her how to do her JOB!"  
"Ah...ye...but..."  
"And I seem to recall helping you last time YOU needed something like this," Sylvia said, "Hello? Captain Baird? Deneria Dry Dock?"  
"OK!" Jeffery gulped, "Ah'll do it! Ah'll get her to stop them!"  
"BEFORE they finish that ship!"  
"Aye," Jeffery sighed. There was a flash of green light from outside and he jumped. "Ah REALLY am startin' to hate public transit!"

"Evasive, Gamma-Six!" Stafford ordered.  
"Authorizing!" Yanick shot back.  
"TRISH!"  
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Yanick said as she punched the commands into the helm officer's place at the Management Table in the Qu'Eh briefing room, "Force of habit!"  
"Shields are at 60%," T'Parief said looking over to Staffod and Jall at the head of the table.  
"I will admit," Jall said, "I sort of like the face-to-face way of doing this. With some exceptions," he looked pointedly at T'Parief.  
T'Parief bristled.  
There was a beep, then Fifebee's frozen hologram jumped back to life.  
"That was a shaky transmission" she said, "I think we've passed out of range-"  
The ship shook again.  
"Maybe we can discuss your fascinating communications update when we're NOT being fired on?" Stafford asked.  
"We don't know who they are," Burke quietly updated Fifebee, "Probably merchants or something. We could actually defeat them, amazingly enough."  
"But blowing up innocent people isn't really in our job description," Fifebee almost sighed, "And they didn't care about the message from the Matrians?"  
"An unknown ship, this close to the Qu'Eh border? Which we have now been following along since Tapart space? Odds are they don't even know who the Matrians are," Burke shrugged.  
"I have transmitted our greeting and the Matrian travel clearance in thirty-six thousand languages," T'Parief said.  
"By which he means that he has authorized Lt Bithe to do so," Valtaic spoke from External Ops, "By which I mean he has authorized ME to authorize Lt Bithe to do so,"  
T'Parief glanced at a display.  
"Thirty-eight thousand," T'Parief clarified, "And shields are down to 45%,"  
"Take us around that moon," Jall suggested, "Gravity sling-shot thingy,"  
"I don't think that will work," Yanick said, "They're too manoeuvrable,"  
"Hey sweetie, I have my uniform on," Jall said, "Just fly the ship. Later, when I'm wearing my drinking vest, we can debate things,"  
"Ass," Yanick muttered, but she complied.  
The ungainly Qu'Eh vessel eased down towards the moon's atmosphere, somehow managing to look somewhat graceful as it swung in close, picking up speed, then hurtling itself off in another direction. It would have been impressive, if the alien ship hadn't followed them step by step.  
"I told you so!" Yanick chirped Jall as the ship shook and T'Parief announced that the shields were down to 40%,"  
"Oops," Jall grunted.  
Stafford said nothing, merely looking sidewise at Jall and humming something to himself.  
"What?" "He's waiting until the rest of us are not here to inform you that it is wise to listen to a junior officer's advice when said officer is speaking of their forte," Valtaic spoke up.  
"You're an ALIEN, how do you know how to use words like 'forte'?" Jall demanded.  
"I had an Academy roommate who-"  
"People!" Stafford cut them both off, "Can we please come up with something that will prevent us from either being KILLED or having to blow up an alien ship full of mostly-innocent aliens?"  
"You'd think the fact that we haven't shot back at them would give them some sort of clue," Jall said.  
"Well, it IS a Qu'Eh ship," Stafford said, "I think I'd want to shoot us, if I were in their shoes,"  
"Warp drive is back online," Lt Sage's voice came up from engineering.  
"Yanick," Stafford waved his hand vaguely in a direction that was nowhere even close to the direction of Kallar IV.  
Yanick figured out what he meant anyway, tapped her panel and the ship jumped into warp.  
And, with a shudder, dropped right back out.  
"They hit us with another torpedo," T'Parief reported.  
"No damage to the drive," Sage called, "But I don't see the point in warping away if they're just going to-"  
"I get it!" Stafford cut the channel. That was it. He had not idea what to do. It was coming down to the unthinkable: Kill people who didn't really deserve killing, or die in a crappy, captured enemy ship.  
Stafford's face fell into his hands.  
Jall looked uncomfortable.  
"Hey, I know it looks grim," Jalls said softly, "But c'mon. Even if we're about to die you're the Captain guy, right? You have to look...not so upset. Even if we're all going to die in a fiery explosion."  
"I'm not upset because I think we're going to die, San," Stafford said tiredly, "I'm upset because I'm about to do something I really don't want to do. Something that makes me feel...soiled. Unclean."  
Jall looked confused.  
"OK people," Stafford rose to his feet and stepped towards the briefing room wall, "Conventional thinking isn't working. I need...I need..."  
"Oh God," Jall's eyes widened with realization, "No. You can't!"  
"I have to," Stafford said, turning back and putting his hands on the back of his seat.  
"We've got to solve this one with techno-babble."  
There was a collective groan from the crew. T'Parief looked like he might be sick.  
"You're not the only captain to feel bad about this," Fifebee said, trying to be reassuring, "Many mediocre starship captains have been moved to tears with the humiliation of resorting to-"  
"Fifebee!"  
"Ahem. Sorry."  
"OK! Techno-babble, people!" Stafford said.  
There was utter silence.  
"Uh-oh," Jall said.  
"What?"  
"It's just...with all the Matrian stuff, with the conventional space warfare, the rebels, the insurrection thing..."  
"Jall, get to the point!"  
"I think I've forgotten how to techno-babble!"  
"Me too," Yanick said.  
"I was never one for babbling," Valtaic admitted.  
"Sage!" Stafford re-opened the comm-link to engineering, "We need a techno-babble solution to this!"  
"What? Do I look like a Wikipaddia to you? Uh, sir?"  
"Oh my GOD, we are so fucked!" Jall announced.  
"Use a modulated polaron burst to disrupt their targeting sensors long enough for us to escape at warp," Fifebee said calmly.  
Everybody stared at her "Please," she said flatly, "I AM technology,"  
"Do it!" Stafford said.  
"Uh...how?" Yanick asked.  
"Fifebee?"  
Fifebee tapped at her panel, then they all watched on the screen as a frazzled-looking ball of purple light shot out at the alien ship. There was a spray of purple electrical activity over their shields.  
"Go!" Fifebee snapped.  
Yanick sent the ship back into warp.  
"No sign of persuit," T'Parief reported.  
"Oh good," Stafford sat back down, "Let's never, ever tell anybody about this, OK?"  
"How many days to Kallar IV? Jall asked wearily.  
"Four,"  
"And we're likely to be attacked..."  
"At this rate?" Fifebee spoke up, "Three more times,"  
"Ugh..."

Captain's Log, Stardate 59402.6:

"We're coming up on the Kallar system. Fifebee was wrong, we weren't attacked three times. We were attacked five times. Four of those ships accepted our explanation; the fifth required a repeat of that little polaron thingy. In any event, this old Qu'Eh wreck is taking quite a beating. I don't think they're even going to WANT it back."  
"In any event, we're here. We can drop off this ship, get on with our mission, and fly back in a little fleet of safe, non-provocative and innocent-looking Federation runabouts."  
"But just to be on the safe side we've decided to approach the Kallar system from the OPPOSITE direction of Qu'Eh space. Hopefully that will be a little less...startling."

"Ready to take us out of warp?" Jall asked Yanick.  
"Yup," Yanick replied, "I've got my finger right on the...wait," she paused, adjusted her finger two buttons to the right, "right on the warp cut-off button,"  
"Wait, what was the other button?" Jall asked.  
"Um...nothing. Definitely nothing that would destabilize the warp field and possibly cause the ship to break apart,"  
"Yanick!"  
"Just drop us out of warp," Stafford said from the head of the table.  
"Uh-oh," Fifebee said suddenly, "Wait!"  
Stafford wasn't even able to turn to face her before the ship dropped out of warp and Yanick cursed like the farm-girl she was.  
"What-"  
Stafford couldn't even finish his question before he was yanked out of his chair by abrupt, barely-compensated deceleration.  
"HOLD ON PEOPLE!" Yanick shouted.  
He tried to rise to his feet, only to be pulled to the side as Yanick pulled the ship to port.  
The holo-screen over the double-high windows flickered out, but that was OK. Stafford could see the problem through the window. They'd come out of warp right on top of something, and it was only Yanicks quick thinking that had let them evade it.  
Ships.  
Dozens. Hundreds. All identical. And all in a parking orbit in what should be a very out-of-the-way, very quiet corner of the Kallar star system.  
"Ohhhhh shit," Stafford groaned.


	9. 8 - Distractions - Part 1

6.8 'Distractions Part I'

"You dragged me all the way back to this end of the city because your bots are building a ship again," Major Dekaire grumbled as she looked out the windows into Shipyard Six and the nearly complete NX-class ship currently under construction, "An antique ship, none the less,"  
"I need you to get them to stop," Sylvia said very politely.  
"They're your bots," Dekaire gave a Matrian shrug, "You can tell them,"  
"Well...I've sort of...lost control of them," Sylvia bit her lip, "They think that because you told them to do something useful with all that material, well, they sort of inferred that they could build whatever they wanted,"  
"Uh-huh," Dekaire turned towards the exit, "Come, Simon,"  
"What? Aren't you going to help?" Jeffery asked.  
"Help? She doesn't need my 'help'," Dekaire almost spat, "They have software. She IS software. She has access, she can just re-write their code,"  
"Sylvia?" Jeffery asked.  
"Simon, you don't brainwash kids when they misbehave!" Sylvia said, wringing her hands.  
"They're robots," Dekaire said as she walked out the door.  
"God, Ah hope Chris and the gang are having a better time of it," Jeffery groaned as he looked between Sylvia and Dekaire. Sylvia was giving him a sort of pleading, expectant expression. Dekaire was simply walking out the door.  
"Um..." Jeffery gulped.  
"Oh, just go," Sylvia sighed, "I can't compete with her vagina,"  
Jeffery blushed, then ran.  
Sylvia brew out a simulated breath.  
"But it still would have been nice if you'd helped," she said to the empty room.

"GOD-DAMNED MOTHERF**KER!" Yanick was cursing as she tried to manoeuvre the ungainly Qu'Eh vessel around the crowded space on the outskirts of the Kallar star system, "MOVE you C**KS**KERS!"  
"Uh, Trish, can you tone it down a bit? The flight recorder's running," Stafford squirmed in his seat, then turned to Valtaic, "Right?"  
"No," Valtaic said bluntly.  
"Well, I'd still like to be somewhat profession-WHOAH!"  
Yanick cursed again as the ship bucked.  
"That was not a collision, we have been fired upon!" T'Parief said loudly.  
"Return fire!" Stafford ordered.  
The Qu'Eh ship rocked again, sparks flying from several consoles.  
"Weapons are offline," T'Parief sounded almost conversational now, "Honourable death by ramming?"  
"There are far too many ships for that to be effective," Fifebee pointed out.  
"They are still not responding to hails," Valtaic added.  
"Shit," Stafford muttered, "Any more technobabble ideas?" he asked Fifebee.  
"You are not too ashamed?" she asked.  
"I suppose you get used to it,"  
"Engineering to bridge...uh, I mean Management Complex," Lt Sage's voice came over the comm, "I'm getting a funny error here that says...hold one," there was the sound of beeps, "Uh, that the warp propulsion department is about to suffer a drastic reduction in quality. Do you guys know what that means?"  
"Jall?" Stafford asked, the ship rocking again as weapons fire crashed against the hull.  
"Well, either it means that they've all called in sick," Jall began.  
"Or?"  
"Warning," the flat-voiced computer announced, "This vessel will soon complete a high-quality energetic reversion to base elements. This exciting business opportunity is best enjoyed from the Observation and Life-Prolongation Pods available to our valued managements staff. Please complete your quality evaluations of your employees, prepare notifications to next of kin and depart the vessel in an orderly fashion. Finest quality to you all!"  
"Or we're about to explode," Jall finished glumly.  
"Shit," Stafford said again, "OK people, let's evacuate! T'Parief, get over to the bridge and get Beta Shift and the HT out of here. Valtaic, make sure Sage and the guys in Engineering get to the runabouts. The rest of you-"  
As Stafford struck his leadership pose and barked orders, Fifebee's hand tapped a button on her console.  
With a shimmer of transporter sparks, Stafford found himself materializing next to Yanick on a runabout transporter pad. His jaw dropped for about two seconds, before the computer prompted him to get off the pad so the next traveller could materialize.  
"I didn't get to finish my leadership sounds," Stafford said, sounding disappointed.  
"You can do it again later," Yanick said, jumping into the pilot seat and bringing the runabout systems online. Stafford looked out the nearest window and could see the runabout next to them coming to life, Lt Cmdr Quintaine's head visible in the matching window.  
"That just took all the fun out of the evacuation," T'Parief said after he materialized.  
"I know, right?" Stafford agreed.  
The ship shook again.  
"On the other hand," Fifebee offered, "I believe the Qu'Eh ship will explode in approximately thirty seconds. Without my initiative, we would have died,"  
"We still might!" Yanick muttered, waiting for the hanger doors to finish opening.  
"That's everyone," Jall said as he and Valtiac materialized.  
"Go, Yanick!" Stafford snapped.  
The runabout rushed out into space, quickly followed by three identical craft. Fifebee's evacuation program had beamed the Hazardous Team into the second runabout, Beta Shift into the third and the various other random crew-members into the fourth.  
"Oh wow," Jall said as he took the copilot seat and looked out the big front windows of the runabout, "That is a LOT of ships!"  
The Silverado officers had expected to drop their borrowed Qu'Eh ship out of warp in a nice, quiet part of the Kallar star system, make a slow approach to the planet and figure out just why the Qu'Eh were leaving the Kallars alone instead of enslaving them. Instead, they'd dropped out of warp to find themselves surrounded by hundreds of starships. Looking out the window, Stafford could get a clear look at them now.  
Most of them were cylindrical shaped craft that basically looked like primitive old nuclear submarines. It was an easy shape to build in, requiring a lot less advanced engineering and construction expertise than more complex shapes. It was also cheap. Each ship had three boxy nacelles spaced around the rear quarter, and a single impulse engine mounted on the rear. They were big, too. Each ship was easily twice the size of Silverado's secondary hull.  
"Primitive looking things," Stafford commented, right as the Qu'Eh vessel behind them exploded. The viewport darkened immediately, preventing him from being instantly blinded by the radiation. Seconds later, the runabout heaved like a boat in rough seas. T'Parief had taken the small tactical station, and Stafford was certain the thing was going to pop free of the deck as T'Parief held tight.  
"Is there anywhere we can hide while their sensors are scrambled from that explosion?"  
Jall demanded.  
"I would love to tell you, but..." Fifebee tapped her panel.  
"Aw shit," Jall face-palmed.  
"Indeed. Our sensors are also scrambled. By that explosion."  
"Four brand-new runabouts can probably do better against those clunky things than a Qu'Eh ship, right?" Stafford asked.  
"Those weren't the ships that were firing on us," Yanick called, still concentrating on her piloting, "Weren't you paying attention?"  
"Huh?"  
"She is correct," T'Parief was reviewing sensor footage, "In fact, they are not even armed."  
"WHAT?" Stafford exclaimed, moving to see, "Then who attacked us?"  
"Them," T'Parief brought up an image of a ship that was similar to the first craft, in the way that a shark is similar to a carp. This ship followed a similar design and definitely looked like it had been built on a budget. But it was also smaller, leaner and sported not only four impulse engine outlets, but also protrusions that the runabout sensors had identified as weapons systems. Right before the Qu'Eh ship had exploded and rendered everybody in the area blind.  
"Sensors had detected roughly four hundred of the unarmed ships," T'Parief went on, "And twenty two of the attack ships,"  
"Twenty two?" Stafford asked.  
"So much for outgunning them," Jall called from the copilot seat.  
"I agree," T'Parief cracked his knuckles, "But now we can ram FOUR ships instead of-"  
"Nobody's ramming anybody!" Stafford snapped, "Look, we've got to be able to talk to them, right? You're sure the hailing frequencies are open?"  
"I am certain," T'Parief looked more than slightly annoyed at being questioned, "There has been no reply." The runabout shook again. "And our shields are now at 75%."  
"The interference from the explosion has faded," Fifebee added, unnecessarily.  
"Anything else you can get on those ships?"  
"One moment," Fifebee tapped at panel.  
"Wait, are you using the standard hail?" Jall asked.  
"Yes." T'Parielf replied. What else would he be using, really?  
Stafford was about to ask why Jall was asking stupid questions when his first officer hammered a thumb down on his 'transmit' button.  
"We're not Qu'Eh, we're not here to hurt anybody, please stop shooting at us!" Jall yelled into the comm.  
There was several moments of silence, then several more weapons were fired at the runabouts.  
"I don' know how you thought that would help," Stafford complained while Yanick resumed cursing.  
"Have your HEARD the actual auto-hail voice?' Jall screwed up his face and raised his voice in a parody of a standard Starfleet computer, "This is the runabout St-Lawrence, requesting communications. Beepity-boop-bloop-bleep! Take me to your central processor!"  
"I do not find that amusing," Fifebee said hotly.  
"Well, at least they thought about it for a minute," Jall shrugged, "So I bought us some time."  
"Which has already been wasted," Valtaic pointed out.  
"And in any case, there are no life-sign readings on any of the ships," Fifebee added, "They are unmanned. Though they clearly are capable of carrying a crew,"  
"Details," Jall waved a hand, "I still expect to see this on my next annual review,"  
"Oh, you WILL!" Stafford replied darkly.  
"Permission to return fire?" T'Parief asked calmly, satisfied that the niceties of requesting NOT to be shot had been properly observed.  
"You mean you weren't already?" Stafford demanded, "Yes! Shoot back!"  
T'Parief tapped his panel, sending the runabouts relatively weak phasers crashing against the enemy shields. And, surprisingly, through them. The enemy ships abruptly broke off, as if stung by an unexpected bee.  
"Full impulse to the planet!" Stafford pointed at the sudden opening in the enemy formation.  
Yanick sent the small ship darting forward, the other three runabouts right on her tail.

The runabouts took up a standard orbit around Kallar IV. Not a single ship actually followed them, instead returning to the unmanned fleet after the runabout crossed the orbit of the outermost planet. Kallar IV itself seemed to be an almost completely defenceless planet, although Fifebee had detected a few scattered planetary defence shields going up over what were presumably key locations on the surface.  
"Foolish" T'Parief shook his head, "Shielding only your most important assets simply tells us what to shoot at first,"  
"If, you know, we were invading bad guys," Jall said, "Which we aren't."  
"Of course."  
"Fifebee, can you send the sensor readings we have so far back to Haven?" Stafford requested, "We're here to study things, after all."  
"No," Fifebee replied immediately.  
"I sort of meant that to be an order," Stafford said slowly.  
Fifebee's face seemed to shift slightly, hair darkening and ears elongating slightly.  
"It is illogical to assume I am being insubordinate, given my previous history," she said in a clipped tone, "We are, in fact, being jammed,"  
"Fascinating," Valtaic said, "I do not believe I have seen you channel a personality since I joined the crew. Most interesting."  
Fifebee shook her head, her features returning to normal.  
"It hasn't happened in a while," she admitted.  
"Jammed?" Stafford prompted.  
"Correct," Fifebee took a (simulated) breath and tapped her panel, "I cannot open a channel on any of the standard frequencies."  
"Curiouser and curiouser," Jall said.  
"A hidden fleet that shot up a Qu'Eh ship but stopped shooting as soon as we shot at them," Stafford scratched his head, "And now they don't want us talking to anybody. But they don't seem to mind that we're hanging out over their plant,"  
"Two hidden fleets," Valtaic spoke calmly, "One hostile, one passive. Both automated, and both very poorly constructed. What might we deduce from that?"  
"That it's time to go get some questions answered," Stafford said, "T'Parief, find us the most heavily shielded building on the planet. That should be their government complex. We'll beam down, ask some questions, buy time for the runabouts to run some scans, then get the hell back to Haven."

The most heavily shielded building was not, in fact, a government complex.  
"What does that say?" Stafford demanded, pointing at the sign near the building entrance. Lt Burke tapped his tricorder, trying to find a translation matrix. Lt Comd Stern and Lt Rengs were carefully scanning the area and Stafford, Jall and Valtaic stood facing the large, elaborate building they had found.  
"I think it says 'Robellus Transceiver Terminal 1'," Burke said.  
"Robellus? I've heard that word before, haven't I?" Stafford said.  
"You have," Stern spoke up, his eyes not leaving the scope of his phaser rifle, "It's one of the Qu'Eh's biggest clients. It's a telecommunications company. I took calls from their customers while I was...employed by them."  
"Wait, no," Jall frowned, "I've heard of them too. You can get them in...in some of the sectors near the Beta Quadrant,"  
"Why the hell would a Federation company have a building on an unknown, unexplored planet?" Stafford wondered.  
"Do we know they're actually a Federation company?" Valtaic asked.  
"I'm pretty sure they aren't, but if we could actually find their leader, maybe we can figure it out," Jall shrugged.  
"Stafford to T'Parief," Stafford tapped his comm badge, "Let's try this again."

The central government of the planet was not, as it turned out, one of the buildings protected by a shield. After beaming to six different locations (including two more smaller Robellus re-broadcast buildings, three buildings for companies they had never heard of, and a Ferengi delivery service) they finally found a local Kallar and did the equivalent of the old 'take me to your leader' routine. The man pointed out the planetary capitol on a map, then proceeded to run away, shouting that "Bontanta is on, and if I miss it it's going to be hell to pay!".  
A quick scan and another quick transporter trip found the away team standing outside the planetary government complex, a rather run-down looking collection of domed, stone buildings. The stone construction meant they would probably stand for thousands of years without any work...and the appearance of the buildings hinted that they would probably have to. The stone was worn and pitted. The windows were dirty and debris had built up along the base of the building. Leaves, dirt, a few pieces of garbage. "Somebody doesn't have much of a landscaping budget," Jall said, pointing at a dry, desiccated flower garden. There were no flowers, just barren dirt and several clumps of weeds.  
The streets were almost empty. The few Kallars they saw appeared to be fairly well dressed at first glance, though a second glance revealed once fancy but now worn, threadbare clothing that had been patched several times. They were humanoid...extremely so. Slender, smooth limbs, completely devoid of hair, showing soft features and a complete lack of distinguishing bumps or ridges. Their pale skin had no freckles, wrinkles or other imperfections. Their eyes were wide and clear, with the barest suggestion of a nose between them. Their mouths were thin-lipped, their chins perfectly rounded below them. The extreme lack of features, from the lack of eyebrow ridge to the perfectly smooth ears made them look almost like cartoons of actual humanoids.  
Burke had his tricorder pointed at a nearby Kallar and was tapping away, but the Kallar saw him and bolted away.  
"Wait!" Burke called, "No! I'm...I'm not going to hurt you, I just want...ugh."  
"We'll find another one," Stafford shrugged.  
"But-"  
"Come on."  
They entered the central government building, expecting to see the usual hustle and bustle of a planetary government busy, well, governing. Instead, they found the building completely empty.  
"Where the hell IS everybody?" Stafford demanded.  
"On the ships we found, after all?" Jall suggested, "There were a lot of them, after all,"  
"No, I'm definitely getting life signs," Burke said, tapping at his tricorder, "There are a couple in this building...that way," he pointed.  
They wandered down a large hallway. The stone walls were in better condition than the building exterior, but something about them still bothered the away team. It was Jall who finally figured it out.  
"The fixtures," he said, pointing up at a cheap, gaudy-looking chandelier, "Look at that garbage,"  
Valtaic arched an eyebrow, then dismissed the conversation as irrelevant. Stafford, on the other hand, frowned.  
"What do you mean? It just looks like another crappy piece of cheap crap," he shrugged.  
"Exactly!" Jall said, "Nobody with an ounce of class would be caught dead with THAT in their home," Jall pointed at a wall scone that didn't seem to fit properly in the wall, "Or THAT. If I had to guess, I'd say that they used to have much nicer stuff, but it's been replaced with this trash,"  
"I think I saw that one in a Dillon's catalogue," Burke started.  
"Don't be stupid," Jall cut him right off, "Dillon's wouldn't sell that if their..." Jall trailed off.  
"What?" Stafford demanded.  
"Burke has seen it before," Jall said, "So have I. On Chairman P'Tarek's Qu'Eh flagship,"  
Stern instinctively brought his phaser rifle up.  
"I thought these people didn't work for the Qu'Eh," he said, his voice sounding worried.  
"They aren't supposed to," Stafford agreed.  
"This does not mean they are associated with the Qu'Eh," Valtaic apparently had decided the conversation was worth participating in, "Only that they purchase from the same suppliers. What might we deduce from that?"  
"What is with you and all the deductive crap all of a sudden?" Jall asked.  
"Lt Yanick recently introduced me to an old Terran television program called 'Sherlock'," Valtaic explained, "I found the main character to be most intriguing. Thought I do not understand why he referred to himself as a 'high-functioning sociopath'."  
"Right. So what's your deductive point?"  
"What drives the Qu'Eh in their purchases?" Valtaic asked.  
"They're cheap," Jall said immediately, "Spending too much money on decent furnishings just doesn't make 'good business sense',"  
"So the Kallars are cheap?" Stafford frowned, peering through another door. The office he found was empty, and Burke was walking in the opposite direction with his tricorder still in hand, "That doesn't explain why we can't find any of them!"  
"That is one possibility," Valtaic agreed.  
"What's the other?"  
"Is it not clear?" Valtaic gestured out a window at the decayed gardens outside the building, "The other possibility is that the Kallars are simply broke,"

In orbit of the planet, Yanick, Fifebee and Wowryk sat in the runbout cockpit, watching as the computer obediently scanned the planet and recorded the resulting data into the computer.  
"It is a standard Class-M planet," Fifebee summarized as the initial scan was completed, "The civilization is roughly 23rd-Century Federation. I have detected several small orbital facilities, but no shipyards capable of building any of the ships in their fleet. Though I believe the gas giant closer to the edge of the system would be a logical place for the fleet to have been built,"  
"But no idea why their ships wouldn't follow us here?" Wowryk asked. "Either their programming detected we had no hostile intent," Fifebee said, "Or whomever is controlling them believes we are not a threat,"  
"What else?" Wowryk asked.  
"Are you asking as the Chief Medical Officer or First Officer?" Fifebee asked.  
"I'm asking as the senior officer on this runabout!" Wowryk snapped.  
"It's a fair question," Yanick spoke up.  
"WHAT?" Wowryk demanded.  
"Well, you HAVE been a lot more commanding lately," Yanick shrugged, turning in her seat, "And Fifebee has a point: why would the head doctor care about what the weird alien ships are doing?"  
Wowry sucked her teeth for a moment.  
"One of us has to be in charge, right? And...well, Stafford didn t really say who,"  
"Don't think he really had to," Yanick smiled, turning back to her panel, "You go, Noel!"  
Wowryk was slightly taken aback. If anybody was going to encourage her in, well, everything, it would be Yanick. No surprise there. But she'd turned down the chance to command Haven. And she had been more than happy to give Jall the First Officer slot back. Her place was in Sickbay, tending to the sick and healing the injured. Right?"  
Well, there was no Sickbay at the moment. So why not make herself useful?  
"The other reason the ships may not be defending the planet," Fifebee spoke without prompting, "would be if remaining here was dangerous for some reason. More dangerous than simply leaving us alone,"  
"Are WE in any danger?" Wowryk asked.  
"I don't see how we could be," Fifebee shrugged, "But I am still scanning,"  
"Any luck getting a message to Hav...I mean, to Starbase 341?"  
"No," Fifebee replied, "but I do not believe we are being jammed, as I first thought,"  
"But we can't get a message through?"  
"We may have gotten a message through," Fifebee corrected, "but even if we had, the starbase cannot acknowledge it, or contact us,"  
"Huh?"  
"What I thought was jamming appears to simply be an unusually high number of powerful communications channels," Fifebee said, "Bandwidth on all standard frequencies as well as many non-standard frequencies, is simply full. Even the primitive electromagnetic bands are full."  
"So crank up the power!" Yanick said, "Even I remember communications classes from the Academy!"  
Fifebee sighed.  
"The issue is not with our power levels. Imagine," she said, "that we are part of a crowd. Everybody is shouting, and you wish to speak to somebody outside that crowd. Now, if you shout in their direction it is possible that they might hear you. However, nothing they say, no matter how loud, could possibly overpower the idiot next to you yelling in your ear."  
"Oh yeah, I get that all the time at the bar," Yanick nodded and turned back to her panel.  
Wowryk wasn't the bar-going type, but she still got the gist.  
"So what are they sending?" she asked.  
Fifebee gestured to an empty panel.  
"I am occupied. Perhaps I can find a frequency that is at least clear enough for us to use for limited data transmission. But you may sample various transmissions from that panel."  
Wowryk cracked her knuckles.  
"Hopefully it isn't too sinful," she said.

"OK, there are several life-signs in that room," Burke said, pointing at a pair of double doors at the very end of the hall.  
"Why couldn't you just tell us to go to the very end of the hall right from the beginning?" Stafford asked.  
"Well...um..."  
"Forget it,"  
Stafford was about to push open the doors when Stern pulled him back.  
"You know that as the Captain you should actually be on the ship right now, not down here possibly getting shot at, right?" Stern said.  
"Oh come on, nobody but Picard ever bothered to listen to that stupid rule!" Stafford objected.  
"Maybe that's how he's lived to get so old," Jall said.  
"Hey, you're the guy that's supposed to be risking his life," Stafford pointed out.  
"Hmm. Carry on," Jall said.  
Stern pushed the door open and quickly surveyed the room. When he came back, he had a look on his face that none of the other officers could quite read.  
"It's safe," he said, "And there are Kallars in there." he bit his lip, "But I don't think you're going to like what they're doing,"  
"Why?" Jall asked immediately, "Is it an orgy?"  
"I doubt it," Stafford sighed, pinching his nose, "You'd like that,"  
"Not if they were fat," Jall shrugged.  
"It's not an orgy," Stern said, "They...well, see for yourself.  
Stafford carefully walked into the room, noticed the half-dozen or so Kallars.  
"You," he said slowly, "have GOT to be kidding me,"  
"Silence!" one of the Kallars barked, "The Program must not be interrupted!"  
"But-"  
"Wait for the commercials!"  
"Ohhhh..." Jall's jaw dropped, "They're...they're..."  
"They are watching television," Valtaic finished.

"You are not currently subscribed to this channel," Wowryk frowned, looking at the message on her screen as she attempted to monitor one of the frequencies overpowering the runabout, "And on this one. And this one,"  
"Try this band," Fifebee pointed over her shoulder, then resumed her work.  
"Oh, that's better," Wowryk said, "It's not encrypted, or whatever."  
"What does it say?"  
"Um..." Wowryk tied in a translation protocol, "It says 'can you believe the stupid writing on this last episode? Whoever thought that getting Gelinda pregnant was going to help get the show renewed should be fired. Out of a cannon. Into a garbage pit.'."  
Fifebee suddenly lost interest in her sensor scans.  
"And a reply," Fifebee pointed at the screen, "Saying 'just because it seems like lazy writing doesn't mean it doesn't fit well with the rest of the season story-arc',"  
"It's just social media," Yanick called, "people are talking about what they're seeing on the holovision,"  
"There is a reference tag," Wowryk said "For something called 'Fertile Fields', only available on Channel 54,"  
She tapped away, trying to find the elusive Channel 54.  
"There's a broadcast with that identifier," she said. But when she attempted to access it, she just received the same 'not currently subscribed' error.  
"Fifebee, you're good with this stuff. Can't you...I don't know...hack something?" Wowryk asked.  
"One moment,"  
Fifebee tapped away for a while, then the error cleared and an image appeared on the screen.  
"Tired of the same old entertainment shows?" a cheerful, female voice asked.  
"Well, I don't know about-" Wowryk started. The voice simply carried on as through she hadn't spoken.  
"Then you need to upgrade to Robellus Tango Plus!" the voice went on as a montage of scenes from various shows flashed over the screen, "The shows you love, on the channels you crave. And with our Customer Select Customer Service, you can be assured that you have the very best in customer service!" The montage stopped, leaving a nondescript, computer generated humanoid standing on a blank background.  
"So, friend, may I sign you up for Tango Plus, your gateway to better entertainment?" the Kallar asked.  
"Well, I don't think-" Wowryk said,  
"Act now, and your first six months are half-price!" the figure encouraged.  
"Well, maybe..."  
The screen suddenly flashed in a psychedelic display of colours.  
"Thank you for signing up for Robellus Tango Plus!" the figure smiled.  
"Wait," Fifebee said, "She didn't...that wasn't a yes!"  
A slew of legal-looking jargon flooded the screen.  
"You can slow that down and review it later," the figure said, "But it basically means that our legal team has proven in court that 'Maybe' is the same as 'Yes'."  
"Are you NUTS!?" Wowryk demanded.  
"If you have a complaint, I would be happy to direct you to our complaints department," the figure said, "Current hold time is 23.5 standard years,"  
"We don't want the service!" Yanick shouted, "Cancel us!"  
Wowryk looked over to Yanick.  
"You have to be tough with these people," Yanick shrugged.  
"Current hold times for Customer Retention are 43.8 standard years," the figure said.  
"We don't want retention, just cancel us!" Yanick declared.  
"We are sorry to..." the figure seemed to frown. Suddenly, the background flashed with red colours and a klaxon began sounding.  
"Warning!" a computerized voice declared, "Non-approved transceiver detected! This is a violation of the Robellus Terms of Customer Usage. You must purchase an approved Robellus transceiver in order to use the Robellus Tango Plus service,"  
"WE DON'T WANT YOUR SERVICE!" the three women shouted together.  
"A surcharge of eight thousand credits will be added to your bill, to include the cost of the transceiver along with express priority shipping," the figure said, "Now, where may I send that?"  
Yanick reached over and slammed her hand down on the cutoff button.  
"Why didn't we just do that from the start?" Wowryk wondered. A panel suddenly started beeping.  
"Energy surge from the planet!" Fifebee called, "One of the shielded buildings just launched an antimatter surface-to-space missile!"

"OK, make this quick," the Kallar said, "the show's going to be back on in a couple of minutes."  
"I'm-"  
"AND PUT THAT AWAY!" the Kallar almost shrieked as he pointed at Burke's tricorder. He twisted to the side, almost like the sensor device was going to shoot him with a phaser beam or something, "Do you WANT to violate the terms of our usage agreement? Quit it!"  
"Look, buddy, I'm a Starfleet captain on a peaceful mission, and my crew and I just got shot up by your ships!" Stafford snapped, "So I don't really care about your stupid show, and you damned well will tell me what's going on here!"  
"Put that away first! Our bodies must not be scanned!"  
Jall waved at Burke to comply.  
"Thank the Guide," the Kallar breathed a sigh of relief, "Oh, I haven't seen this commercial before. That's an interesting product idea,"  
"Hey! You guys SHOT AT US!" Stafford snapped his fingers at the Kallar, trying to regain his attention, "You and your fleet destroyed the Qu'Eh ship we were supposed to be delivering here!"  
"What fleet?" the Kallar appeare only moderately interested.  
"The fleet in your Oort cloud!"  
"We don't have a fleet," the Kallar huffed, "Something else must have blown up your Qu'Eh ship,"  
"But the Qu'Eh are expecting that ship!" Stafford said, "They're supposed to meet us here!"  
"I'd like to help you, but what can I say?" the Kallar shrugged. The commercial on the screen behind him ended and he abruptly turned away.  
"Just tell them you hit a subspace fibre bundle or something," he said, "They'll add it to your bill."  
And with that he left Stafford standing near the door.  
Stafford rejoined Jall, Burke, Stern and Valtaic.  
"I don't think I've ever wanted to punch a world leader so badly," Stafford admitted.  
"Maybe you should have," Jall shrugged, his eyes looking over to where the Kallars were raptly watching some sort of program about people whining about relationships or something, "It might get their attention,"  
"I have a thought on that," Burke said, tapping at his tricorder.

"Evasive, full impulse!" Yanick shouted, diving back at the helm and pulling the small runabout into motion, "Fifebee, tell the other runbouts to scatter!"  
"The missile has locked on us," Fifebee reported.  
"I thought I was in command?" Wowryk complained.  
"I can give myself orders right now, thanks Noel," Yanick said.  
The missile quickly cleared the atmosphere and began homing in on the runabout. Yanick pulled a hard turn to starboard and the missile zipped by. It reversed course and started towards the runabout again.  
"Warp speed!" Wowryk called.  
"In a brand new runabout this close to a planet?" Yanick asked, "Do you WANT to end up in a red wormhole?"  
"I...what?"  
"Cheesy time distortions and a strange, laser-scanned looking spatial anomaly," Fifebee advised her, "Happens sometimes when warp engines haven't been properly broken in,"  
"Besides," Yanick pulled the runabout abruptly upward, "This missile's going to run out of fuel sooner or later, right?"  
The missile was turning around to followed their last manoeuvre when it abruptly exploded. Fifebee examined the sensor footage.  
"Or the Hazardous Team runabout could blow it up," she said, "I believe Ensign Simmons is getting bored over there."  
"Hey, if it means we don't blow up, then he can shoot all the missiles he wants," Wowryk said.

"Ready?" Burke asked.  
"Yup," Stafford nodded.  
"Not like there's really anything you have to do," Jall pointed out.  
"Hey, the Kallars are the only people we're trying to surprise," Stafford said, "Not me."  
"Point taken,"  
Burke tapped his tricorder and the television screen abruptly broke in a cloud of static.  
The effect on the Kallars was immediate.  
"NO!"  
"AHHH!"  
"WHAT HAPPENS TO BREE AND HANAN!?"  
One of them (not the leader) rushed forward and started fiddling with a small blue box beneath the screen. Another started jiggling a cable than ran towards a wall jack while a third actually thumped the top of the flat screen with one fist.  
After a few minutes, they turned to the leader, their faces grim.  
"We're going to have to call," one gulped, "Technical Support,"  
The leader paled.  
"Oh no," he said.  
Stafford stepped forward.  
"Look, maybe we can help?" he offered.  
"I doubt it," the leader was already reaching for a communications device, "and besides, if we let a non-Robellus certified technician touch anything, it will void our warranty,"  
"OK, look, we're jamming your signal," Jall stepped forward, "And until we get some answers, it's going to stay jammed!"  
"You WHAT?"  
There were looks of shock and horror all around the room.  
"How COULD you!?"  
"...dare you!"  
"...violate warranty?"  
"OK, OK," the leader set the comm device aside, "Look, I am Prime Magistrate Watchum. Let us not be rash. Simply restore our television service, and you may depart unharmed."  
"Nothing is stopping us from departing unharmed already," Valtaic pointed out.  
"Hmmm?" Watchum reached over and tapped the side of his chair's left arm. He had, Stafford realized, done the same earlier. Some sort of hidden alarm!  
"Those security guards are late!" he snapped.  
"We had to lay them off," one of the other Kallars said, "So we could afford the Tango Elite package in the lavatory,"  
"Oh, right," Watchum signed, "No security guards. Hmmm. Very well. State your demands."  
"What the hell is going on here?" Stafford demanded.  
"You're messing up our TV time is what's going on," one of the other Kallars said angrily.  
"Why the fleet?" Jall asked, pushing forward, "Why shoot at us? Why do the Qu'Eh leave you alone instead of enslaving you?"  
Watchum touched his fingers together, moving them in an odd motion. The Kallar equivalent of a sigh? Irritation?  
"I still do not know this fleet you speak of," he said, "The last fleet the Kallar people owned was built as an evacuation fleet. It bankrupted us to commission it, and the contractors never actually delivered it. That was over a century ago. What was the last question? Oh yes. The Qu'Eh."  
He shrugged.  
"They come by now and then, they check on the Robellus buildings, and they leave. Oh, and they always have us fill out some quality surveys. We don't know why."  
"You're SURE nobody delivered this evacuation fleet of yours?" Jall asked.  
"Don't ask me, I'm not a century old!" Watchum said, "But if they had, would we still be here? It was an EVACTUATION fleet for cable's sake! And it bankrupted us, for no good cause! It was two generations before we could get high definition service back! Imagine, in this era, watching low-resolution television!"  
"Why were your ancestors evacuating?" Valtaic asked.  
"Why, Robellus and our other creditors, of course," he said, "The cost of our global television services is over three quarters of our planetary product! Our civilization is deteriorating, and those evil telecommunications companies are to blame!"  
He made a third gesture with his hands, again meaning anything from 'what a pleasant day' to 'oh dear, I must move my bowels at once'.  
"Now please," he almost begged, "Turn the TV back on! We're missing critical plot points!"

Stafford and Jall watched in almost horror as the Kallars watched the ridiculous show. Even worse, half of them were pulling out personal communications devices and, near as they could tell, talking about the stupid thing with others on some sort of social media. The Silverado officers had been forgotten seconds after the signal had resumed, and at least two aids who had attempted to bring in official-looking documents had been waved away.  
"Uh...sirs? Can you take a look at this?" Burke tilted his tricorder towards the two senior officers.  
"Um...interesting," Stafford said after a moment spent looking at the flickering display, "Most interesting,"  
"You have no idea what you're looking at, do you?" Jall crossed his arms.  
"And you do?"  
Jall looked at the screen.  
"Oh, that's easy,"  
"Yeah?" Stafford also crossed his arms, "Then what does it mean?"  
"Well...it's showing the Kallar life-sign readings," Jall said.  
"Well even I can see that!"  
As the two continued bickering, Valtaic stepped over and glanced at the screen.  
"Their life signs...some sort of strange energy reading. And these two, they seem to have started phasing out of our space-time continuum, then stabilized," he said.  
Jall and Stafford abruptly stopped arguing.  
"That's what I thought!" Jall said quickly.  
"Oh, you are SO full of shit!" Stafford snapped back.  
OK. Now they're really stopped arguing.  
"But what does it mean?" Burke wondered.  
"It means we need to go look at one of those Robellus buildings," Jall said.  
"I thought of it first!" Stafford declared.  
"Oh yeah?"  
"Yeah. And we have to get somebody onto one of those unmanned ships,"  
"I was going to say that too," Jall lifted his chin.  
"Was not!"  
"Was so!"  
"We also," Valtaic added, "Must determine how wide-spread this problem is."  
"I knew that," Stafford and Jall said together.  
"I really missed this," Jall said after a moment.  
"What," Stafford asked, "Driving me to the brink of a nervous breakdown?"  
"Well, that too," Jall nodded, "But I mean, isn't it nice to be back on a mission? Exploring the unknown? Boldly going, and all that?"  
"Yeah," Stafford had to agree, "It is. I sort of wish YOU would boldly go, someplace else. But it is nice to be back,"

All four runabouts landed outside the government building, approval being received from a somewhat distracted Watchum during a commercial for fabric softener.  
"Hazardous Team," Stafford pointed at Stern, "You guys are taking a runabout back out to that fleet. Try to get onto one of the ships without being detected. See if it really is this missing evacuation feet, and why it's been sitting out there for a century,"  
Stern nodded. Next to him, Simmons was bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet.  
"Simmons, DON'T BLOW IT UP!" Stafford snapped.  
"Yes sir," Simmons said eagerly enough, but Stafford saw he was still fondling his grenade belt with one hand.  
"Beta Shift," Stafford went on, "You're going door to door. Find out if it's just their leaders with this addiction, or if it's everybody. Try a few different continents."  
Quintane nodded.  
"So we're checking out the Robellus building?" Jall asked.  
"Yup," Stafford nodded.  
"OK, people," Jall clapped his hands, "Alpha Shift, we're heading to the Robellus building. T'Parief, Fifebee, find us a way through their shield. Sage, well, you're not really Alpha Shift, but we need an engineer since Jeffery stayed behind. You'll do the-"  
"What are you doing?" Stafford asked quietly.  
"You've given your orders. Now as your second in command, I'm putting them in action," Jall said, also quiet, "What's your problem?"  
"Nothing, it's just...you're oddly enthusiastic,"  
"Sue me," Jall shrugged, "I told you it's good to be back,"

The Beta Shift had the easiest task by far. They'd jumped into the runabout, flown halfway across the planet and landed in a large city near the intersection of two large rivers. Coming in at low altitude they saw an extensive river port facility with docks, loading and unloading equipment and even a few shipyards with half-finished seagoing cargo vessels. The city itself did not have the stone construction of the capitol, but instead metal and glass construction so common on so many worlds. Of course, most races built towers of some sort to maximize their living space, while the Kallars (in this city anyway) had built odd, upside-down teardrop shaped buildings that looked like they'd tip over in a strong wind.  
As they landed at the base of one such building, that impression was reinforced by the corroded state of the metal.  
"They're definitely not paying the upkeep," Burke said, waving his tricorder around.  
"Then let's get this over with before the whole thing falls over," Lt Pye said.  
"You're the pilot, you're staying here with the runabout," Lt Comd Quintaine said, "What are you worried about?"  
"I'm worried about this building falling on the runabout, what do you think?"  
"Oh. Right," Quintaine frowned, "Wait. So you're staying with the runabout, Sage is with the Alpha Shift, Stern is with the Hazardous Team...are we the only three people out here?"  
"Lt Day is doing some work on the runabout computer in the rear compartment," Pye said, "I can get him, if you want,"  
"No," Quinaine shook his head, "I just didn't realize how short-staffed we were getting,"  
"You didn't notice on the flight over?" Burke asked.  
"I thought there were more people in the back," Quintaine shrugged.

"Have you thought about borrowing a couple of the Beta Shift guys to build up our numbers? Lt Rengs asked Lt Comd Stern as he piloted the HT runabout back towards the robot fleet, "I mean, the Beta security team isn't all they're cracked up to be, and we should probably have some people waiting in the wings."  
"Maybe," Stern shrugged, "You have a point...Simmons or Marsden aren't going to last too long,"  
"Hey, what do you mean by that?" Marsden asked.  
"Well, you've been unconscious a lot. That's, like, REALLY bad for you," Stern said, "And Simmons is going to pull the wrong pin and blow himself to pieces sooner or later. I just hope he doesn't take anybody else with him,"  
"Or just end up with two legs and an arm blown off," Simmons added, checking his plasma grenades for the ten millionth time, "That would really suck,"  
"Difficult to fight to an honourable death with only one limb," Crewman Kreklor agreed, "It would be unfortunate,"  
"So would dying!" Marsden said.  
"You're not dying," Simmons said, "You're just going to take another hit to the head and end up a vegetable. Don't worry, dude. I'll visit you. But somebody else has to wipe the drool off your chin,"  
Lt Dar'ugal made a series of gestures, several strands of thick, red fur floating happily on the small ships air currents as he did.  
"Dude, cut down the sign language when you're shedding," Simmons complained.  
"He has a point though," Rengs said, "How ARE we going to sneak up on a robot fleet?"  
"Marsden, you're the technology expert," Stern prompted, "You had the training course, anyway,"  
"It's a centuries old evacuation fleet," Marsden said, "It was BUILT for people to get on the ships. We probably triggered some sort of defence program when we dropped out of warp right on top of them. A nice, slow approach should work.

An hour later, the HT runabout once again flew at full impulse away from the Kallar fleet, dodging phaser blasts.  
"OK," Marsden gulped as the last attack ship turned back to resume its guard position, "Bad idea. New plan: push an asteroid in their direction, hide behind it with everything shut down, then beam over to one of the ships,"  
"This time it better work," Stern said, "Or we're sending Dar'ugal on that technology course instead,"

T'Parief and Fifebee stood at the edge of the shield protecting the Robellus building that had launched the antimatter missile at the runabout.  
"Shields do not work well in an atmosphere," Fifebee said, "Not usually. We may want to examine their generator technology, as this one seems more efficient than Federation shields in an atmosphere,"  
"How do we break it?" T'Parief grumbled.  
"I am processing," Fifebee said. She stood, seeing to stare at the building. "How are you and Lt Yanick coping with the distance between yourselves and your offspring?"  
"I thought you were processing?" T'Parief asked, his tone not exactly inviting discussion.  
"I am rotating some of my processor units to basic social discourse," Fifebee replied, "slowing them down to the pace of organics on a regular basis reduces the chance of overload,"  
"We are fine," T'Parief said flatly.  
"Really?"

"It's actually bugging me a lot more than I thought it would," Yanick admitted to Stafford, "I mean, I knew we'd be apart. It's part of the job. But she's...she's just so far away!"  
"I can't imagine it," Stafford shrugged, "I don't have kids. Can't imagine I ever will, at this rate,"  
"At least on Silverado she'll be a few decks down," Yanick went on, "But if anything happens to the ship..."  
"And I guess you won't be having Jall over for martinis quite as much, huh?" Stafford joked.  
"Maybe that's why I'm talking to you," Yanick shrugged, "Jall doesn't really get the whole 'kids' thing. Well, neither do you. But...I could at least see you with kids. Could you imagine Jall with kids? I sure can't!"  
Stafford rolled his eyes.  
"You could argue," he said, "That Jall puts more effort into getting people pregnant than anybody else on the ship. He just seems to have missed a minor fact of biology."  
Yanic giggled.  
"But could you picture him as a father?"  
"Well...no."  
"Me neither," Jall had overheard this last and was approaching, arms crossed, "But that doesn't mean I'm going to stop trying,"  
"We already made that joke," Yanick told him.  
"Yeah. Look, Fifebee's found some sort of frequency harmonic that she can use to disrupt the...I don't know. It sounded like pretty advanced technobabble. But we can beam into the building in about ten minutes,"  
He turned and left.  
"You don't...you don't think we hurt his feelings, do you?" Yanick asked quietly.  
"Don't know, don't care," Stafford shrugged. There was a moment of quiet, then: "So why did you name her 'Allona', anyway?"  
"Well..."

"Because I like it. Now stop asking question and let me get back to my show," the Kallar youth said, slamming his door shut.  
"Not interested!" Door slammed shut.  
"PUT THAT SCANNER AWAY!" Door slammed shut.  
Burke rubbed his ear. He wasn't entirely surprised that the Kallars had old-style hinge doors in some of their buildings. But was surprised at the ringing in his ears when they slammed them shut.  
"Don't they realize we could just scan them through the door?" Burke said, annoyed.  
"Wouldn't that be a really unethical breach of privacy?" Pye asked curiously.  
"It wouldn't have been, until you had to go bringing it up," Burke's lip twisted.  
Quintaine cleared his throat.  
"Yes, it would have been," Burke corrected himself.  
"That's over twenty apartments now," Quintane said, half to himself, "I think we've established that whatever the story is behind this addiction, it's planet-wide,"  
"Well, statistically speaking..." Burke started.  
"Do you want to spend another week going to random cities and knocking on random doors just to confirm what we're pretty sure we know?"  
"Well...no..."  
They started walking towards the elevator.  
"So who can we actually talk to?" Pye asked, "Even if there is a planet-wide TV addiction, there has to be a couple of Kallars who are fighting it, right? So if we could find them..."  
"Addiction," Quintaine trailed off thoughtful, then turned to Burke, "You're an addict, you should know how this sort of thing works, right?"  
"Wha...me?" Burke gulped, "No, I'm not addicted to anything. You must be thinking of Crewman Gibson,"  
"No, Fifebee gave me copies of the codes she was using to keep you from accessing your porn database on the bridge," Quintaine crossed his arms. They had arrived in the building lobby, pausing in the neglected space next to a bed of dead plants.  
"Heh, those were easy to break," Burke chuckled. His laughter faded when he saw the look on Quintaine's face. He slumped.  
"OK, right. If there are anti-addict busybodies on this planet, and there probably are, then we have two options. We either start hunting the electronic bulletin boards for a Television Anonymous meeting,"  
"Or?"  
"Or we make them come to us," Burke steepled his fingertips, "We get a bunch of screens, set them up in a public location, say a market, then we sit there watching sexual-education programs until the police show up to haul us away to rehab,"  
"Found it," Pye said, his tricorder aimed at a large screen on one wall of the lobby, "There's a 'Broadcast Content Anonymous' chapter in the city center. They have a meeting tonight,"  
"Sounds good. Let's get to the runabout!" Quintaine said.  
"My idea was more fun," Burke said.  
"Yeah, watching pseudo-porn in a shopping mall until the cops come? I don't think so."  
"OK then," Pye said, "Let's go find us a bunch of addicts!"


	10. 9 - Distractions - Part II

6.9 'Distractions Part II'

Aboard their unnamed runabout, the HT slowly drifted through space. Literally. "I can't breath with all this hair floating around!" Marsden complained, "It's getting in my...in my...AH-CHOO!"  
The force of his sneeze sent him pinwheeling around, arms and legs flailing as he tried to find a handhold to catch himself.  
"Look, we don't want the automated defence ships to detect us," Stern said, "So we shut everything off and hide behind an asteroid. Starfeet officers do this sort of thing ALL the time!"  
"But they never turn off the gravity!" Simmons complained as two of his grenades floated just out of his reach. He carefully extended an arm, one fingertip barely brushing the pull-ring of the closer one.  
Dar'ugal grabbed both grenades, checked the safety switches and stashed them back in the appropriate storage compartment.  
"HEY!" Simmons complained.  
Dar'ugal attempted to sign an explanation. But moving his arms caused his whole body to shift, making it impossible for anybody to catch just what he said.  
"If being...ulp...if being shut down is so important, why are the sensors on?" Marsden asked, "And the heat?"  
"Oh, I forgot about that," Stern hit a switch, "We'll still be pretty warm compared to the asteroid, but every little bit counts. And the sensors are passive."  
"But-"  
"I'm not turning on the gravity!" Stern roared, "Now shut up and let's work!"  
Kreklor had his legs wrapped around the tactical console and was viewing the sensor readouts.  
"I am learning nothing new regarding their weapon systems," he said, "Their shields, however, match our records for a Klingon design used approximately one hundred and fifty standard years ago,"  
"You're saying the Kallars were buying from the Klingons?" Stern asked.  
"No," Kreklor replied, "I'm saying the Kallars bought this fleet from someone who bought a Klingon shield design. And given the time this fleet was supposed to have been built, they were ripped off. Badly."  
"What do you mean?"  
Kreklor gave him an oddly human look that, even with his sharp teeth, cranial ridges and swarthy alien skin still managed to say 'I can't believe I'm explaining this'.  
"We sold much technology in the past," he said, "None of it was top of the line. And this design fell out of use fifty years before the fleet was built. It is no wonder our runabout phasers cut through them."  
"Hmm."  
"I'm going to be sick," Marsden gasped, still spinning. Rengs, strapped into a nearby panel, grabbed him by one ankle and guided him to the next seat.  
"I don't recognize the engine design," Rengs said, also looking at sensor readings, "The hulls are a titanium-duranium mix. Functional, but cheap. I'm picking up a breathable atmosphere, so we can beam over as soon as we're in range. In about two hours."  
"So until then, let's just-"  
Mardsen vomited, explosively. Most of it splattered against the port bulkhead, but several other small globs started floating around the cockpit.  
"Let's just get the wet-vac," Stern winced

With a shower of transporter sparkles, Stafford, Sage, Wowryk, Fifebee and T'Parief materialized inside a large, minimalist yet functional two level lobby.  
"Transport complete," Fifebee reported over the comm, "None of the organics were liquified, and the temporary rely is also intact,"  
"Excellent," Valtaic's voice came back, barely audible through the interference "I am...track your signals...the shield be lowered...beam you back,"  
There was a loug squeal, then the signal died. A not unexpected event.  
"Liquified?" Stafford asked, glaring at Fifebee, "That was a possibility?"  
"A remote one," she admitted.  
Stafford rolled his eyes.  
"Whatever. Start scanning."  
"The building design is clearly not Qu'Eh," Fifebee said, "It does have some similarities to Hyrosis architecture, a Beta Quadrant race. However, the languages on the signs and displays are Qu'Eh and...Myssasis? Another Beta Quadrant race. Interesting."  
"Federation members?" Stafford asked.  
"No. Though both are friendly. Or at least non-hostile. I have no further information, and no connection to the Federation databases,"  
"Why is the place empty?" T'Parief asked. He still had his phaser rifle raised and was looking through the scope as he scanned the lobby.  
"I believe it is automated," Fifebee said.  
"It wasn't originally, I bet," Stafford said, spinning a chair around its mount behind what could only be a reception desk.  
"Broadcast Control is this way," Fifebee said, walking up the staircase.  
"You tracking the source of the heavy comm traffic?" Sage wondered.  
"No, this building is merely rebroadcasting to a network of satellites in geo...well, kallasyncronous orbit," Fifebee said, "I am following the sign that says 'Broadcast Control'. With an arrow pointing in the appropriate direction."  
"Oh,"  
They made their way up the stairs, through a wide hallway and eventually to a wide set of double doors. Fifebee wasn't able to make heads or tails out of the locking mechanism, so T'Parief simply fired his phaser rifle until the left door obediently vaporized.  
"Wow," Stafford said as he stepped into the room behind the tall reptile.  
The room was roughly the size of a hockey arena, with screens covering every wall and branching off pillars rising from the floor to the ceiling. Hundreds of different entertainment channels were being shown, and the screens kept changing every few minutes. Fifebee started scanning the labels attached to various groups of screens, identifying them to different sections of various cities around the planet.  
"OH! SINFUL!" Wowryk cried.  
There were several channels dedicated to...adult programming.  
"Doctor, could you take a look at this?" Fifebee asked.  
"It was a Klingon and a Rigellian in the missionary position," Wowryk said, fluttering her hands around her head, "And I didn't see a wedding ring, and no I will NOT check again!"  
"That's not...just please come here," Fifebee said.  
"You saw all that in half a second?" Stafford asked.  
"Half a second too much!" Wowryk said.  
"Which screen was it? One of my exes told me I could learn a thing or two from the Klingons,"  
Wowryk smacked Stafford upside the head then went to find Fifebee.  
"Ow," Stafford muttered.  
"Definitely automated," Sage said, "I found several control stations, all of them with fairly obvious upgrades to move actual control of the place off-planet. Fairly normal for cutting down on the number of people you need."  
"If you're cheap," Stafford said.  
"Yeah. Which seems to be a recurring theme here."  
Fifebee was several pillars over, pointing at one of the curved screens.  
"I have determined that there are nearly fifty thousand screens," she said, "And they are cycling through various viewing screens across the planet. But I do not understand this," she gestured at an inset square on the screen,"  
"Those are bio-readings," Wowryk said immediately, "Mostly related to brain activity. And...I don't understand this one," she pointed at a word the tricorder and universal translator evidently didn't know, "But whatever it is, it's at 85%. Some sort of alien neurotransmitter?"  
"This is why we cannot get a transmission out of this system," Fifebee said, "If all this data is being transmitted out, along with all the entertainment programming coming in..."  
"Why is a cable company tracking brain activity of some of their customers?" Stafford demanded, "Isn't that illegal?"  
"In the Federation it is," T'Parief said.  
"And it's not some of their customers," Wowryk said slowly, watching as all the screens switched from channel to channel, each with one or more bio-readings inset in the lower corner.  
"It's all of them.

"My name is Liftum, and I'm an addict," the pale, nearly featureless Kallar said as he stood in the center of the group of rag-tag Kallars that had gathered in what was once a fitness club. It clearly hadn't been used in years, as most of the equipment was covered in dust. "Hello Liftum," the rest of the group, including Quintaine, Pye and Burke chanted politely. "I used to watch 28 hours of television a day," Liftum went on, "I'd sleep during the commercials, then in the middle of the night when the reality show re-runs were on. I even installed a waste extraction unit in the TV room so I wouldn't miss anything," "How long is a Kallar day?" Pye whispered.  
"Thirty hours," Burke replied.  
"I am still a virgin," Liftum said, "Though I am twenty years old,"  
"How long is a Kallar-"  
"One and a half standard years," Burke cut Pye off, "he's thirty,"  
"-simply did not leave the house to meet females," Liftum was going on, "But I have gone for eight hours now without watching television,"  
"And how do you feel?" the group organizer, a Kallar who had introduced herself as Runum asked.  
"Terrible!" Liftum cried, "I don't know who won Critical Combat last night! I don't know if Yurta and Prestum mated two nights ago on Acquaintances! And I have this horrible, strange feeling in my head, almost as if...as if...my skull is shrinking!"  
"But eight!" the Runum asked, "That's hours longer than anyone else has lasted! You my be The One!"  
"I can't go on!" Liftum groaned, squinting his eyes shut, "It...it doesn't hurt, but I feel something. Something...I don't know if it's wonderful or terrible, but it's unbearable!"  
The other Kallars were now staring at Liftum in a mix of hope and fear.  
"Scan him," Quintaine whispered to Burke.  
"But they don't want-"  
"Hi," Quinaine stood up,"  
"Do you have the token?" Runum asked, "I'm sure Liftum still has the token.  
"We don't know what's going on, we just want to scan him!"  
The Kallars pulled back in horror.  
"That violates the Customer Use Agreement!" one of them cried out.  
"We don't understand-"  
"AUUUGGGGHH!" Liftum screamed, clutching his head.  
"Get the screen!" Runum shouted, jumping to her feet to grab at the male as he fell from his chair. Two Kallars rushed in, a large screen held between them. On it a group of bumpy aliens were sitting around a campfire, speaking in a language the Universal Translator apparently needed more time to crack.  
"Open your eyes, Liftum!" Runum said, rubbing his head as they stretched him out on the floor and held the screen in front of him.  
Liftum's eyes opened and flicked towards the screen. They locked on the show immediately. His breathing slowed and he seemed to calm down. The two holding the screen slowly moved to the far corner of the room, where several mats had been laid down. Liftum followed.  
"Well," Runum sighed, "That's disappointing. Is anybody else here over the six hour mark?"  
No hands went up.  
"OK, let's call it quits for today," she said, "Same time tomorrow. Try to keep it under an hour at a time tonight, OK?"  
There was assorted mumbling as the group dispersed.  
Burke, Pye and Quintaine stayed behind.  
"That was...interesting," Quintaine said, trying to be diplomatic, "And strangely familiar. Where did you get the...um...idea for the way to run this addiction group? The discussion format. Because it might be trademarked."  
"I saw it on TV," Runum shrugged, "We have chapters all over the planet. But hardly anybody comes. Nobody WANTS to be cured of TV addiction,"  
"Hey, some addictions are fun!" Burke objected.  
"Is he going to be ok?" Quintaine pointing at Liftum.  
"He'll be fine. We'll let him watch for an hour or two to get his fix in, then take him off it again," Runum looked at Quintaine as if seeing him for the first time, "What planet are you from? No wonder you have so many questions!"  
"I'm Lieutenant Commander Quintaine of the starship...well, from the United Federation of Planets," he straightened up a little, "We came here to find out why the Qu'Eh didn't enslave your planet. But so far we're just finding a whole lot of confusion."  
"Are you serious?" Runum lifted an eyebrow, "Look, the Qu'Eh have been a power for centuries, providing quality assurance services to thousands of companies and organizations,"  
"Uh-huh," Quintaine nodded, "Look, we're not from around here. So we don't know a lot of the history."  
"Well the Qu'Eh wouldn't have much of a business if those companies and organizations didn't have customers, now would they?" Runum said, hands moving in an odd gesture, "The Qu'Eh and Robellus have the perfect relationship on Kallar IV. Robellus bleeds us dry of resources in exchange for this addictive filth," she waved at Liftum's screen, "and the Qu'Eh monitor everything and let Robellus know exactly what to do to keep us under their control. Really, it should be obvious,"  
"Maybe to you," Quintaine was digging one toe into the floor. Actually, it did make sense. Why had they flown all the way out here, again?"  
"But TV isn't usually addictive," Burke said.  
"It's always been that way here," Runum said, "As long as we can remember, anyway. And nobody's been working very hard to keep track."  
"Look, I know you have a...a thing here. But would you come with us? Some of our people are trying to investigate one of the Robellus stations right now, and-"  
"YOU GOT INTO ROBELLUS?" Runum demanded, her near-featureless face still doing a good job of communicating total shock.  
"Well, either that or they were turned into a liquid by a transporter malfunction," Burke said.  
Quintaine slowly turned to look at him. "What?"  
"Oh, right. Fifebee said not to mention that,"  
"I must bring some people with me," Runum said, "Including Liftum, when he is recovered.  
"Fine. But speaking of, why can't we scan anybody?" "Oh, Robellus added that to the Customer End User agreement decades ago. Only Robellus certified bio-sensors may be used on any customers."  
"Um...this may be important," Burke said, "And you're trying to break out of this anyway..."  
"Oh, yes. Go ahead. It's mostly the ones terrified of losing their service that...overreact."  
Burke scanned Liftum and Runum, but whatever had been happening during his fit had evidently passed.  
"Odd neurological readings in both of them," he reported, "But nothing that would explain that reaction. Although...there's something happening here that I really don't understand,"  
"Send the data to Lt. Fifebee," Quintaine said, "I think we've accomplished our task. Let's get back to the rest of the crew,"

"BUUUAAAPPPPP!"  
"Lieutenant Fifebee!" Wowryk admonished, "What was that!"  
"Pardon me," Fifebee said, "Somebody just sent a tricorder data-burst to my program.  
"No, you just belched like a beer-swigging pig!" Wowryk said.  
"The transmission seemed to trigger an unintended side-effect in my program,"  
"I'll say!"

"Hmm. Transmission failed. I'll try again," Burke said.

"BUUUUAAAAAPPPPPPP!"  
"Lieutenant! Stop this at once!"  
"They keep trying to resend the data!"

"Geez," Stafford said, pulling his attention away from of the screens long enough to look in Fifebee's general direction, somewhere across the huge room, "What's gotten into her,"  
"Hmmmm," T'Parief said, not pulling his eyes away from a nearby screen showing a pair of large, bear-like aliens in what seemed to be a fight to the death, "I am sure they will...figure it...out..."  
Neither of them noticed the small bio-reading boxes appear on their screens, one human. And one Parian.  
After a moment, both boxes flashed a message in alien script. If they'd had their tricorders out, they would have seen that the message read 'Candidate Not Suitable'. But they didn't, and both the messages and the bio-readings disappeared.  
Both continued to stare at the screens.

"We will be within five hundred meters of an unarmed ship in two minutes," Rengs reported.  
"OK," Stern said, "Thrusters only. They we space-walk over, find an airlock, make our way in and hope that while we're there the armed ships don't detect us and do their automatic attack thing,"  
"Or we just program the runabout to run away if it gets shot at," Marsden said. He was still looking a bit green from his earlier vomit incident. And the runabout cockpit smelled...unpleasant.  
"That's a good idea," Stern tapped away, "Let's do that."  
"In range," Rengs reported.  
"OK, here we go," Stern bit his lip.  
He tapped the thrusters to reduce the runabouts forward motion, causing it to drift away from the asteroid they'd hidden behind. Of course, the asteroid was moving pretty fast relative to the stationary Kallar ship. And the thrusters had to pump out a fair bit of energy to stop something as heavy as a runabout.  
"Robot ship moving to intercept!" Kreklor barked.  
"Well they sure didn't cheap out on their sensors, did they?" Stern cursed, "OK, new plan! Beam over!"  
"But the runabout-"  
"Will escape on auto-pilot!" Stern said, "Beam over!"  
"But-"  
"BEAM OVER!" he hit a button restoring full power to the small craft, including gravity. Dar'ugal and Simmons crashed to the carpeted deck.  
"Ouch," Simmons grunted. Kreklor grabbed him under the arms and shoved him in the transporter alcove. He abruptly vanished.  
And materialized in a large cargo bay, Rengs right beside him. Another hum of the transporter and Marsden and Kreklor appeared, followed by Stern and Dar'ugal.  
They looked around, then Stern's comm-badge beeped.  
"Runabout out of range of robot ships," the computer voice announced.  
"See, the runabout is safe," Stern said.  
"But as I was trying to ask," Marsden said, "How are we getting back on the runabout?"  
Stern opened his mouth. Closed it, thought for a moment.  
"Shit."

"I still can't get the data to go through," Burke frowned.  
"You're sending it to the right port?" Pye asked.  
"Yeah."  
"It doesn't matter," Quintaine said, "We're taking these Kallars there anyway,"  
"Maybe you should try calling them," Pye suggested to Burke.  
"Oh. Right."  
But there was no answer on his comm badge.  
"That shield must be interfering. Or there's still too much comm traffic. Either way, I can't get them."  
"Could that be causing the tricorder problem too?"  
"Maybe. I don't know. Look, I'm just a minor character, and I'm pretty out of practice."  
"OK, OK. We'll just wait for them to turn off the shield, then we'll walk in and talk to them.

"Why do you suppose Bree keeps putting up with Hanan?" Stafford asked T'Parief as the two of them stared at the big TV screens, "I mean, she keeps flirting with all his friends. You don't like it when Yanick does that,"  
"Perhaps he is merely awaiting the correct moment to disembowel her."  
"The show is rated PG, big guy. I don't think that's going to happen."  
"This is why I wanted to watch 'Ultimate Submissions' on the Explosive Combat network," T'Parief grumbled "T'Parief, I think you're confusing combat with bondage sex," Stafford replied, his eyes not leaving the screen.  
"Don't be ridiculous" T'Parief scoffed as Wowryk and Fifebee walked over to their small corner of the huge, screen-filled arena, "If your partner has submitted, there is no need to tie them up,"  
"I don't even want to know," Wowryk said, "Look, I thought you guys were going to turn off the defensive shield for this place so we could maybe leave? I don't know what else we're going to learn,"  
"I would like to examine the records," Fifebee said, "There are likely database access points in the control room,"  
"You guys do that," Stafford waved, "I want to see if Hanan cheats on Bree with Haspar,"  
"OK," Wowryk said slowly, "Since when did you start liking bad soap operas?"  
"Since never," Stafford shrugged, "But I still want to know,"  
Wowryk's tricorder was out and pointed right at him.  
"Wow," she said, "Your brain activity looks like something out of a cheap drug den,"  
"I feel fine," Stafford replied, "Hey, did you guys notice any chairs when you were wandering around? Or maybe a beer fridge?"  
"Captain, we are here to understand the Kallars and their relationship with the Qu'Eh," Fifebee said, looking somewhat alarmed, "not to sit on the fat-pads of your gluteus maximus as you observe poorly written drivel,"  
"But if Hanan cheats on Bree with Haspar, then Bree can chase after that blond with the...well, whatever race she is don't have much in the way of breasts. But she's still really attractive for some reason,"  
"Your endorphins and enkephalins are up...it's almost like you're on heroine or something," Wowryk said, "I think that's enough TV for now,"  
"Just until the end of this episode," Stafford protested.  
Wowryk stood in front of him. He tried to look around her, like a little kid. Fifebee was pulling at T'Parief with no luck.  
"Leave him for now," Wowryk said, "If we can bring the captain back to his senses, he can help us with T'Parief,"  
"I'm fine!" Stafford waved away her concerns, peering over her shoulder.  
Fifebee released T'Parief, walked over to Stafford and clamped her hands over his eyes.  
The effect was immediate. It was almost as if the somebody had let the air out of the man. He deflated, sagging almost to his knees.  
"BRING THE SHOW BACK!" he wailed.  
Wowrykw was tapping at her tricorder. She fiddled with her med-kit, then jabbed him with a hypospray. Slowly, he recovered.  
"What was that?" Fifebee asked.  
"We use it for treating opiate addicts for withdrawal," Wowryk said, "Why it was necessary after watching at TV program...I have no idea. But that thing with the eyes was a great idea."  
"Let's just get out of here," Stafford said, looking vaguely green.  
"Here," Wowryk handed Fifebee a second hypospray, "I'll get Stafford out to the corridor, you take care of T'Parief,"  
"Oh, is that Trading Starships?" Stafford asked, turning towards another screen.  
"MOVE!" Wowryk shoved both hands on his back and pushed.

"ALERT! ALERT! UNAUTHORIZED PRESENCE DETECTED!"  
"Oh hell," Stern groaned as he materialized in an unremarkable cargo bay, "Say what you want about these Kallars, they didn't skimp on the sensors,"  
"INITIALIZE SECURITY PROTOCOLS," the computerized voice continued in the Kallar language, their badges translating.  
"Get ready!" Stern ordered, taking cover behind a crate.  
"RELEASING GAS,"  
"Oh sh-"  
There was an odd chime, then a similar but not quite identical computer voice chimed in.  
"Warning," the new voice said, "Gas canisters are empty. You can have your intruder mobilization system re-charged with a wide variety of lethal and non-lethal substances. Call your Budget Fleet representative for details and your personalized quote,"  
Marsden had his tricorder out. Sure enough, the atmosphere remained breathable and free of toxins.  
"Well," Stern started to relax, "That's a re-"  
"INTRUDERS DETECTED IN MAIN CARGO BAY," the original voice thundered, "ACTIVATING SECURITY MECHANOIDS,"  
"Take cover!" Stern barked. But the second voice spoke again a few seconds.  
"Greetings!" it said, as though it hadn't spoken before, "You have not opted to purchase our Enhanced Intruder Countermeasures package. Including security mechanoids, bulkhead mounted defensive beam weapons and the latest in life-sign tracking systems, the Enhanced package guarantees your ship remains yours. Call your Budget Fleet representative today!"  
"Not picking up anything," Marsden confirmed.  
"Screw it," Stern stood back up and motioned for the team to follow him, "Keep an eye out, but I think this place is deserted."  
His guess turned out to be fairly accurate. Three more times the computerized voice warned of the activation of various anti-intruder systems, but each time the second voice chimed in, reminding the non-existent crew that they hadn't purchased that particular option. "I get the whole marketing thing," Stern said at one point, "But this seems a bit excessive,"  
"Can you imagine?" Simmons spoke, "You're about to be horribly killed by a violent intruder, and the last thing you hear is a marketing pitch?"  
"Horrible way to die," Rengs agreed.  
They came to an intersection of two corridors. Something caught Dar'ugals eye, several meters down the cross-corridor. He moved down to look, then waved Stern over "Cloths," Stern murmured. Indeed, what looked like a set of overalls were on the floor, along with a pair of boots and socks. "As if somebody just lay down and died," Simmons said, eyes wide as a little kid at a campfire.  
"No body. No bones," Rengs said, "Not even any residue. This ship has supposedly been here for a hundred years, there should be something left,"  
"Ship cleaning bots?" Marsden suggested.  
"Then why are the cloths here?" Stern asked.  
"Good point,"  
The continued their search of the empty ship, finding a few more sets of abandoned overalls. One turn led them into a small lounge. Several sets of overalls were scattered on the various pieces of furniture. But most of them were gathered right in front of the large viewscreen that dominated one end of the ship. The screen itself was displaying static, and probably had been doing so for a century.  
Marsden started fiddling with the screen.  
"It was keyed to an external broadcast," he said after a moment, "But there seems to be some sort of problem with the ships transceiver array."  
"I don't suppose there's a map to the bridge on there?" Stern asked.  
Marsden tapped for a few minutes.  
"There is,"  
"Let's go,"

Quintaine, Burke and Pye were hovering in their runabout about three hundred meters above the Robellus building when their comm panel abruptly started chirping. Day was in the back, presumably still trying to work out the kinks with the comms system. (He'd actually fallen asleep and nobody had thought to check on him.)  
"We just got a data packet from the fourth runabout," Burke said, "They can't get through to us on the usual frequencies. But there's a Qu'Eh ship less than an hour away from entering orbit."  
"We better tell the Captain," Quintaine said.  
"Sure, as soon as he lowers that stupid shield."

"Fifebee, just lower the stupid shield," Stafford said "I'm trying" she said, annoyed, "Whoever built this facility, Qu'Eh or not, they evidently don't believe in traditional labelling!"  
"Just find the 'OFF' switch!"  
"That might turn off the whole complex,"  
"So?" Stafford unconsciously rubbed the spot where Wowryk had injected him, "I for one don't think shutting down a broadcast facility that pumps out visual heroine is really such a bad idea,"  
"Prime Directive?" Wowryk reminded him.  
"Right, that thing," Stafford sighed, "OK, just turn off the shield then,"  
"As I have been trying to do for the past ten minutes!" Fifebee said crossly, "Cease speaking!"

"Well," Stern said as he surveyed the Kallar vessel's bridge, "Not exactly what I expected."  
"Hmmm," Rengs agreed.  
"Actually," Simmons said, "this is WAYYY more like what I expected."  
"I as well," Kreklor said as he carefully scanned the room with his phaser rifle scope.  
"You were expecting piles of bodies?" Stern asked.  
"This is not piles," Kreklo scoffed, "They aren't on top of each other at all. There are at most ten bodies,"  
"Still," Marsden gulped.  
"At least they're not still...juicy," Stern said.  
The bodies in question were in two groups. 'Piles' might have come to mind, but Kreklor was actually right...there were only about a dozen bodies total. One group had clearly been trying to defend one of the consoles on the port side of the bridge. Several chairs and pieces of briefing room furniture had been raised in a very poor defence. One group of bodies was mostly behind the barricade, while the second group had several members near the doors to the bridge, half slouched behind support columns. Two more bodies had fallen rushing the barricade.  
"Forensic scan," Stern ordered. Tricorders came out, phasers rifles were slung. Kreklor took up a guard position over the two visible entrances to the bridge. The automated security systems made a half-hearted attempt to initiate lethal countermeasures against alien intruders on the bridge, but the computer reminded them that the bridge disintegration fields were an optional accessory, available for the low, low price of 'call your Budget Feet dealer'.  
"Twelve bodies," Rengs reported, "All dead. Clearly dead for decades, probably the century or so this fleet has supposedly been here."  
"Dried right out," Marsden added, a small, white cloth over his mouth and his features visibly green, "Decomposed as far as they could, then mummified. No...ugh..."  
"No insects or scavengers to eat the bodies," Kreklor clarified.  
"What he said," Marsden said, then dry-heaved.  
"Any idea what killed them?" Stern asked.  
"No, but probably energy weapons," Marsden said, "Rengs?"  
"I'm the energy weapon specialist," Rengs agreed, "But there's no way to tell if that's what killed them."  
Dar'ugal started gesturing. He had been tapping away at one of the stations.  
"Just download the logs," Stern told him.  
"What do you guys think of this?" Simmons asked. He pointed at the panel that the barricade might have been defending. It was smashed completely to hell. A heavy wrench lay near one of the bodies behind the barricade.  
"It looks," Stern said slowly, "Like they smashed up the panel they were supposed to be defending?"  
Dar'ugal waved his hands again, pointed at the body, then at the panel.  
Stern waved Marsden over. Relieved to be getting some distance between himself and the corpses, he moved to the panel and brought up the security footage Dar'ugal had found.  
"They weren't defending the panel," he called to Stern after a moment, "They were buying time for this guy to smash the living crap out of it."  
"What station was it?" Stern asked.  
Rengs pointed his tricorder at some of the mangled Kallar script on the smashed panel.  
"Communications, I think,"  
Stern frowned, thinking of all the piles of cloths clustered around viewing screens showing transceiver errors.  
"So they fought a pitched battle to the death to...turn off TV services to the ship?"  
"Not just the ship," Marsden said, "I'm not sure, but it sounds like they were trying to send a feedback pulse into the transceivers on the other ships...cut them all off completely.  
"Why the hell would they do that?"  
Sterns comm-badge beeped. He stepped to the side to take the comm.  
"Do we have security footage of any other decks?" Rengs asked.  
Marsden tapped away.  
"You're thinking about all the other bodies?" he asked.  
"Yeah. There are bodies in uniforms on the bridge. But everywhere else, just abandoned uniforms."  
Marsden shook his head.  
"The system only has so much space for security logs. The bridge and engineering have over a century of logs, but everything else is overwritten every eight days. We can't even recover what's been overwritten, not after a century,"  
"Nothing in Engineering?"  
"I...I don't think so."  
He pulled up the log. A fairly generic warp core pulsed away, but it appeared to be in low-power mode. Lights glittered on panels. Nobody was visible.  
"This is when communications when offline." Marsden said.  
Nothing seemed to change on the display.  
Marsden sped up the log. The core was strobing, lights danced spasmodically. But absolutely nothing changed.  
"Wait, what's that," Rengs pointed.  
Marsden reversed the log, then resumed playback at normal speed.  
"There," Rengs pointed.  
"I don't see anything," Marsden said.  
Rengs took the controls and figured out how to zoom in. He centred the view on the reflective control surface to the very left of the screen. When he resumed playback, a dim glow briefly appeared. It seemed to shift, then vanished.  
"That is extremely unhelpful," Kreklor said, looking briefly over their shoulders.  
"OK people," Stern had returned from his conversation, "That was Crewman Shwaluk in the fourth runabout. There's a Qu'Eh ship closing on the planet. They can't get ahold of the captain and they want us back there for support."  
"How did they get the message through to us?" Marsden asked.  
"Well, they had to fly out to our runabout in their runabout, dock the two, tie the transmitters together and...whatever. It worked," Stern crossed his arms, "Now, Marsden...can you fly this thing?"  
Marsden blinked.  
"Excuse me?"  
"If the runabouts come to get us, they'll be attacked by the defence ships," Stern said, "So fly us out there."  
"Ahhh...oh," Marsden gulped, then gingerly sat in the seat.  
"Rengs, sensors. Kreklor...well, I know there aren't any weapons. Is there a shield control station?"  
Kreklor looked around.  
"There is a fully functional tactical station," he said, "I will take it,"  
"Wait," Stern frowned, "Why is-"  
"I will take it," Kreklor said firmly.  
Stern abruptly shoved him out of the way.  
"That is challenge to the death, human!" Kreklor bellowed, assuming a fighting stance.  
"Oh, stow it," Stern said, ignoring him. He tapped at the panel, running his tricorder over the displays to translate the readouts.  
"Oh," he smiled, "Oh...this is interesting..."

Quintaine, Burke, Day, Liftum, Runum and two more of the Television Anonymous Kallars materialized not far from where Stafford, Wowryk and T'Parief were watching as Fifebee worked on the building shield controls.  
"Shields have been deactivated," Fifebee said.  
"Oh thank God," Pye breathed, "I was so worried...you know, about the...liquidy thing,"  
"I guess with the shields down we didn't need to take the risk," Burke shrugged.  
"I lowered the shields after you materialized," Fifebee clarified, "You were, in fact, in considerable danger,"  
"Oh," Pye said quietly.  
"Of course, if you'd waited half a minute..." Stafford trailed off, noticing the Kallars "Who are these guys?"  
There was another transporter chime, then Jall materialized.  
"Hey, you got the shield now," he commented, "Did you know there's a Qu'Eh ship almost right on top of u?"  
"No!" Stafford barked. He spun on Quintaine angrily.  
"We were about to tell you!" Quintaine said.  
"Also, this is Liftum, Runum, Strechum and Jogum," Pye introduced the Kallars, "They're from Broadcast Content Anonymous,"  
Wowryk perked up.  
"So you know your entertainment programs are somehow affecting your neurotransmitters in a fashion similar to addictive opiates?" Wowryk asked.  
The three nearly featureless aliens just stared at her.  
"I guess not," Wowryk muttered.  
Liftum abruptly put his hands to his temples and winced.  
"He's going into withdrawal again," Runum said.  
"And I'm not feeling so great either," Stretchum offered.  
"There's a giant TV chamber down the hall," Stafford said helpfully.  
"Wait," Quintaine cut in, "Doc...we wanted to talk to you and Fifebee about some of the weird tricorder readings we were getting,"  
"Linked to brain activity?" Fifebee asked.  
"How did you know?"  
"Because this facility is using sensors built into the viewscreens to monitor bio-readings of the whole population, including some specific brain patterns I'm not familiar with," Wowryk said.  
"I don't mean to be rude, but there's a Qu'Eh ship in orbit!" Jall cut in.  
"Well we can't exactly hail them with all the comm channels full, now can we?" Stafford snapped, "Wowryk, can you do anything for their television withdrawal?"  
"I don't really have to," Wowryk sniffed, "We could just shut down the channels and let them go cold turkey. It would be very unpleasant, but they would survive,"  
"I dunno, Doc," Burke said, "It looked like this guy was going to die when we saw him. And that was after a few hours!"  
Wowryk waved a hand.  
"I doubt it," she said. But after a moment she pulled out her medical tricorder and began scanning Liftum as he watched her nervously.  
"Well?" Stafford asked.  
"It won't kill him," Wowryk confirmed, "But...these readings are very strange. Fifee, do you recognize them?"  
Fifebee looked over.  
"No," she said, "But keep in mind I am operating without my usual link to detailed scientific and historical databases,"  
"So what do you think we should do?" Stafford asked.  
"Uh, hello?" Jall tried again, "Qu'Eh?"  
"I'd like to observe him," Wowryk decided, "In case this 'almost death' happens again,"  
"Fine," Stafford nodded, "Wowryk, you and Fifebee stay here with the other science people. The rest of us," he gave Jall a look, "Will go see if we can have a chat with the Qu'Eh,"  
"We are already here," a bland voice spoke. Everybody spun to the door to see a single Qu'Eh officer standing there. He had a rather elaborate headset and microphone grafted onto his skull, and the starfish-like tendrils of his exposed ear were twitching in annoyance.  
"And you have seriously violated the end user agreements of this facility," he said with a frown.

The Qu'Eh hadn't come alone. Several more were behind him. They were armed, as were the Starfleet officers, but their weapons were holstered.  
"You have illegally entered a Robellus facility," the Qu'Eh continued, "You have potentially accessed sensitive corporate information belonging to the Qu'Eh, and to Robellus Corporation. You have also disturbed our...customers."  
"Well," Stafford crossed his arms, "We actually came here to return a ship to your people. We just got a bit...distracted."  
"I see," The Qu'Eh didn't exactly look impressed, "And where is this ship?"  
"It was-"  
"It's in the outer solar system," Jall cut Stafford off, "There were a few quality control items we had to look at first,"  
The Qu'Eh jerked.  
"Am I to understand," he said, "that after the promise of a returned ship, which would have figured very highly on my annual review, I might add, I must now return to the Corporate Authority with substandard merchandise?"  
"Of course not," Jall purred, "If you would just give us a bit of time to sort out this minor issue, we'll give you the coordinates of the ship and you can go get it,"  
The Qu'Eh hesitated.  
"You are not authorized to be in this facility," he said, apparently satisfied with Jall's explanation, "It is the property of Robellus Corp, and they are quite stringent on such matters. Company policy-"  
"Look," Stafford said, "We'd be happy to be on our way. But there's something affecting these people, and we're sort of obligated to try to help them. It's...well, it's sort of the Federation's thing,"  
"And I doubt Robellus owns the whole planet," Jall chucked. Then he abruptly stopped, looking worried, "Right?"  
"Erase all records from your visit here and depart the facility at once," the Qu'Eh snapped, "You are not suitable to Robellus in this matter. The Kallars are customers of Robellus, and as such we must ensure they receive the highest quality programming as desired by Robellus,"  
"So why isn't Robellus here watching their precious customers?" Jall asked.  
"We were...contracted," the Qu'Eh said.  
"Look, whoever you are," Wowryk cut in.  
"Oh, I beg your pardon. How low-quality of me. I am Manager Reevart of the Qu'Eh vessel Lifecycle Validation," the Qu'Eh introduced himself.  
"Captain Stafford, USS..." Stafford paused, "Ummm...well,"  
"Look, I'm trying to treat this man for withdrawal," Wowryk said, not exactly telling the truth, "So why don't you and the Captain go talk about this somewhere else?"  
"I cannot permit you to remain in this facility," the Qu'Eh said coldly.  
"Fine," Stafford said, "We'll take these Kallars back to our runabout. But we're not leaving,"  
"We will escort you out," the Qu'Eh said, gesturing to his people.  
Suddenly surrounded, Stafford opted to depart. Sure, he could have had T'Parief make a scene. But the really annoying thing was that it WAS their building.

"Well that was embarrassing," Stafford grunted as he stood next to the runabouts that had landed. He could see Qu'Eh patrolling the perimeter of the Robellus building. As he watched, the security shield reactivated.  
"There wasn't anything else in that building we needed, was there?" Jall asked.  
"I don't know," Stafford slouched, "But we've got our answer. Quintaine was telling me about what Runum said...the Kallars can't be employed by the Qu'Eh, because Robellus has hired the Qu'Eh to monitor what the Kallars think of their entrainment packages."  
"So all we have to do to protect other planets from the Qu'Eh is sign up for overpriced drivel that has apparently addictive side effects," Jall said, "Don't think that's useful,"  
"No, but it's enough for Tunney," Stafford said, "We'll let Wowryk monitor these guys for a bit, and see if she can adapt our withdrawal drugs to their biology. Luckily, since the Qu'Eh and Robellus and scrambled their culture, we don't have to worry about the Prime Directive."  
He frowned.  
"What was that thing about testing the Qu'Eh ship?" he asked, "It was destroyed!"  
"Yeah, Jall shrugged, "But we don't want to tell him that. If the Qu'Eh become a problem..."  
"We give them the coordinates to the robot fleet that blew us up," Stafford suddenly understood, "Assuming the HT hasn't switched it off, or something,"  
"Have we heard from the Hazardous Team yet?" Jall asked.  
"No, but their runabout is on the way back to orbit," Stafford shrugged.  
"I guess we just collect our people and go then," Jall said.  
"Yup,"  
"We don't do anything to free these people from the corporate leeches that are using this addiction to suck every resource they can out of this planet," Jall said.  
"Well, not right now,"  
"And we don't tell them that the escape fleet their ancestors ordered and bought a century ago is just sitting at the endge of their solar system,"  
"We did tell them, they didn't believe us," Stafford's hands shot out, "And most of them don't WANT the shows to end. Otherwise Runum would have more than just a support group to work with. I mean, we figured out the addiction thing in a day, and Wowryk will probably have a cure in half an hour."  
"We could just blow up that Robellus building," Jall said.  
"And risk another confrontation with the Qu'Eh?"  
"We can take them,"  
"In four runabouts?"  
Jall reconsidered.  
"Right," he said glumly.  
Suddenly, Burke came running out of the runabout.  
"Dr. Wowryk wants you guys in the rear compartment," he said breathlessly, "now,"  
A look of annoyance crossed Stafford's face, but he followed the junior science officer.

They found Liftum lying flat on his back on one of the rear bunks. He appeared to by lying calmly, but the beeps and alarms from various medical instruments revealed that the situation wasn't exactly calm.  
"Doc?" Stafford asked.  
"It started about an hour ago," Wowryk said "At first, it looked like more of the typical withdrawal symptoms. I had modified our medication for his bio-chemistry, and it stopped his symptoms. But his neuro-chemistry and neuronal activity are off the charts,"  
"Is he dying?" Stafford asked.  
"I...I don't think so," Wowryk said, "His heart rate and all other readings are normal,"  
Fifebee consulted a readout from the wall panel, then turned.  
"It would appear," Fifebee said, "That something in the television broadcast was preventing this from happening. The readings I took in the transmission facility indicate that Robellus, or whomever is operating that facility, was studying the Kallars. This may be what specifically they were studying,"  
Stafford turned to Runum.  
"Can you think of any reason why anybody would want to study your people?" he asked.  
Runum shrugged.  
"I'm sorry," she said "Robellus has been our entertainment provider for over a century,"  
"But it couldn't have always been like this," Stafford pressed, "You had a society...a civilization! Right now you're all just spending your lives staring at screens!"  
"Perhaps the urge is stronger now than before," Runum admitted, "But I can't...I couldn't..."  
She grabbed at her midsection and doubled over. Wowryk ran over and injected her with a hypo. She immediately looked better, but something was still wrong. Wowryk moved on and injected the remaining two Kallars, one of them going into spasms about two seconds before the hypospray hit.  
After seeing to their comfort, she moved back to where Fifebee was tapping at her tricorder.  
"Whatever is happening to their brains, it has nothing to do with the withdrawal," she said, "That is merely the result of the addictive influence of the Qu'Eh or Robellus broadcast. This other effect, the one the broadcast was preventing...I feel as though it should be familiar, but without my link to the scientific databases, I cannot bring up the necessary data,"  
Liftum abruptly gasped. His body tightened once, then went slack. The monitors starting beeping bloody murder as his heart rate dropped to zero.  
"Crash cart!" Wowryk started to say, but stopped, stunned.  
Liftum's heart rate may have dropped to zero, but his brain activity had spiked off Wowryk's re-calibrated charts. There was an electronic squeal, then the monitor sparked and died.  
Then Liftum's body began to glow.  
It started at his head, a soft white glow that quickly spread over his entire body. Orbs of light seemed to dance around him, barely at the edge of perception, spiralling upward as his body slowly faded. In mere seconds, the bunk was empty.  
"Um," Jall raised his hand, "I think I know what the Qu'Eh were studying."  
"Holy shit," Staffod's draw job, "Was that...did we just see...I mean, you read about it at the Academy...that whole V'ger thing..."  
"The Kallars are evolving beyond their material forms and into pure consciousness," Fifebee looked annoyed with herself, "Even without the databases I should have figured that one out,"  
"We're...we're what?" Runum asked, her eyes wide as she stared at Liftum's empty bunk, "How...why?"  
"I thought," Stafford said slowly, "That a race had to be highly evolved and...you know...intelligent in order to do that"  
"Hey!" Runum looked indignant. "Evidently this process started over a century ago," Wowryk said "The Qu'Eh or Robellus or whoever must have found the Kallars on the very edge of ascension, realized it and figured out how to delay the process. It gave them the chance to study it,"  
"But the Kallars kept evolving," Jall nodded, "It took more and more of the broadcasts to delay the process,"  
"So they made it increasingly addictive," Wowryk nodded, "The broadcasts moved from a casual entertainment to an obsession."  
"And Robellus realizes they're making far more profit from a planet of addicts than they would from studying any sort of evolutionary thing," Valtaic quietly added.  
"But," Wowryk was thoughtful, "Sooner or later, the Kallars would evolve anyway."  
"But what about the Kallars that already evolved?" Stafford asked.  
"For all we know," Fifebee shrugged, "They may still be watching the broadcasts, but we are unable to perceive them,"  
"But what...ohhh my God, it's full of stars!" Runum abruptly collapsed, then dissolved into white light.  
"It can't be the Qu'Eh behind this," T'Parief said, the first words he'd spoken in a while, "Their only concern was evicting us from the Robellus building. It is doubtful they even know what has been happening here,"  
"Noel," Stafford said thoughtfully, "You said the withdrawal symptoms weren't fatal,"  
"No," Wowryk said, "But they are very unpleasant. As we have seen with this addictions group, the symptoms drive them back to the broadcasts before the transformation can begin."  
"So they'd evolve even without your meds. They just need to stay away from the broadcasts?"  
Wowryk nodded.  
"So we shut down or destroy the facility," Jall suggested again, "Sure, it'll be a bit painful for them. For about an hour."  
"The Prime Directive doesn't apply to us," Stafford said thoughtfully, "It's Robellus who's preventing their natural development,"  
He cursed.  
"Shit,"  
"What?"  
"Well, now we're OBLIGATED to blow it up," he said crossly.  
"Doesn't that make it easier?" T'Parief rumbled.  
"Well yeah, but now it's not a matter of being the brave crew that sweeps in and saves the planet because we're wonderful," Jall smirked.  
"Now we're doing it because we don't really have a choice," Stafford nodded.  
"Oh, question!" Yanick put her hand up, "How do we blow it up and NOT get blasted by the Qu'Eh?"  
"Well, that's the problem," Stafford agreed, "Do the runabouts have enough firepower to take down that shield AND fight off the Qu'Eh ship?"  
T'Parief moved to a wall panel and pulled up the tactical data.  
"Not even close," he replied.  
"BUUAAARRRPPP!" Fifebee covered her mouth, "We REALLY need to fix that data transfer bug! This is DISGUSTINGLY organic!"  
Jall tapped at the other rear compartment panel.  
"You should see this," he told Stafford.  
"And I have a better way to destroy the Robellus facility," T'Parief said, looking thoughtfully at Fifebee.

"I resent this," Fifebee said flatly. She was standing in the Robellus facility. To her left was the rigged holo-relay that Sage had built. To her right, a stack of micro-torpedoes from the runabout. Loops of wire ran between them, leading to the device in Fifebee's right hand. The Qu'Eh either didn't know how the Starfleet crew had penetrated the shield before, or didn't know how to adapt it to prevent it from happening again. Or that didn't even know the shield had been penetrated. Either way, Fifebee had done her techno-thingy, and once again found herself in the sprawling transceiver complex.  
"We need to be in space before we tip our hand," Stafford said for the third time, his words received not over a comm channel but through the runabout computer and direct to Fifebee's program, "And since your program is running runabout computer..."  
"Which can barely handle the data bursts we've been sending!" Fifebee said, "My holographic data stream can barely overcome the comms traffic! If it was on a conventional frequency-"  
"It's not, so you're perfect," Jall cut in, "Any other sort of transmitter wouldn't work, and a timer doesn't give us the control we want. You're just the little suicide bomber we needed."  
"I am NOT a-"  
"Weapons delivery system?" T'Parief offered.  
"You have all angered me," Fifebee said flatly.  
"Angry enough to blow something up in a devastating explosion?" T'Parief asked, sounding genuinely curious.  
Fifebee blinked.  
"Actually...yes."  
"Good, hold that thought," Stafford said.

"You know, this is a remarkably insensitive use of Lt Comd Fifebee," Dr. Wowryk pointed out.  
"The right people for the right jobs," Stafford shrugged. He turned to Jall, "You're sure this is going to work?"  
"Which part?" Jall replied.  
"Any of it."  
"Yes?"  
"That would have been more encouraging if it hadn't sounded like a question."  
"And you would have...shut up!" Jall huffed, "I'm opening a channel to the Qu'Eh,"  
He tapped away for a few moments "Or not," he complained, "I still can't get standard comms through all this traffic. Uhh...let's see...more space on the higher freqs, but less range...hell we're right beside them...aaannnnddd..."  
There was a beep, then Manager Reevart appeared on the small screen.  
"Finest quality," Jall said, smiling pleasantly, "Have you had any issues with the sunspots during your orbit?"  
"We have not," Reevart looked surprised that an alien and non-employee would be familiar with the Qu'Eh custom of Friendly Banter. Or, as most of their slaves called it, pointless and obnoxious bullshit. "And your ascent? I trust all four vessels experienced no turbulence from the tropical storm forming?"  
"Oh, there will be turbulence, but not from the storm. And I doubt our ships will be affected," Jall said.  
The smile froze on Reevart's face.  
"And what do you mean by that?"  
"Robellus has been practising disreputable tactics with their customers on Kallar IV," Jall said, keeping a straight face, "And worse, they've involved the Qu'Eh Corporate Authority and have contracted you to continue those tactics. If word of this gets out, say to Galactic Purchaser Reports..."  
Reevart made that odd Qu'Eh religious gesture that looked so much like somebody checking off boxes on a clipboard.  
"The Qu'Eh Corporate Authority offers only the highest quality service to all our customers, both consumer and corporate," he intoned, lowering his eyes briefly. When they came back up, they were full of fire, "And if you intend to spread such false and slanderous accusations about us, we will see you in court!" "The Kallars are on the verge of evolving into a new state of being," Stafford cut in, "Robellus has been embedding an addictive signal into their broadcasts and preventing the Kallars from transforming, so they can study them. By hiring the Qu'Eh to manage their entertainment service, they've involved you in some very serious crimes."  
"The Qu'Eh Corporate Authority does not recognize your laws," Reevart said coldly.  
"That's OK. We're not really interested in coming after you," Stafford shrugged, "We're going to blow up the Robellus building and be on our way,"  
Reevart's eyes widened.  
"THAT IS PROTECTED PROPERTY UNDER THE QU'EH/ROBELLUS SERVICE LEVEL AGREEMENT!" he shrieked, "YOU CAN'T-"  
"Fifebee?" Stafford pressed a button.  
There was a tiny point of light down on the surface as the Robellus facility was obliterated. With a sizzle of holographic sparks, Fifebee appeared. The runabout cockpit was abruptly filled with the stench of seared flesh and death.  
"Merciful Lord," Wowryk gulped, covering her face.  
Stafford turned to see Fifebee standing there, her holographic body blackened and burned. Her hair was gone, and as she moved bloood and goo started oozing from cracks in her flesh.  
"Oh come on," he said, "You're a hologram! That explosion didn't hurt you in the slightest!"  
"No," Fifebee agreed, turning towards Stafford and leaning in to stare at him with empty eye sockets. Stafford cringed back, nearly puking over the front of his uniform, "But as I said, you have made me very angry. Deal with it, sir."  
"Ohhh, the nightmares I'll have tonight," Jall made a face.  
"Comms are back online," T'Parief reported, "Robellus sensor data out of the system has ceased. The incoming entertainment bands are no longer being rebroadcast,"  
Reevart was still staring, stunned, from the screen.  
"We will..." he gulped, "We will destroy you for this outrage!"  
"Well, you say that," Jall grinned, "But see, that Qu'Eh ship we were supposed to deliver? Yeah. Somebody destroyed it on us. And hey, here they come!"  
Hundreds of vessels abruptly popped up on the sensor scope, coming in from the general direction of the outer system.  
"Stafford to Stern," Stafford hit the comm button, "Right on time. Ready to blow up the bad guys?"  
"Anytime," Stern's voice replied, "The Kallars might have cheaped out on their intruder countermeasures, but this is the best remote control network I've ever seen. This whole fleet is just following us around like a bunch of puppies! Um, angry, murderous puppies that shoot phasers out of their eyes!"  
They could hear buttons beeping, then a sudden barrage of phaser blasts filled the space between the Qu'Eh ship and the runabouts.  
"Look," Stafford said to Reevart, "Just tell Robellus that a bunch of aliens showed up and blew the place up. Does your contract really include fighting off an angry fleet?"  
Reevart looked thoughtful.  
"One moment," he said.

Nearly an hour passed. On the screen, Reevart was slowly paging through a huge volume of actual paper that was presumably the esteemed Service Level Agreement. Stern's finger was on the trigger of the now-hijacked Kallar evacuation fleet, and Wowryk and Fifebee were paying close attention to the runabout sensors.  
"There!" Wowryk abruptly snapped, "Southern continent! Energy spike!"  
"Another," Fifebee confirmed. She still looked and reeked of burnt flesh, but at least she'd stopped oozing onto the carpet after Jall pointed out how organic she was being.  
"Well," Reevart finally said from the screen, "It appears that although we are expected to provide security for the facility, nowhere does it state that we must fight off a fleet of hostile spacecraft,"  
"Tell them the fleet blew up the facility," Jall suggested, "Maybe your quality score won't get docked,"  
Reevart cut the channel with an angry sound.  
"The Qu'Eh are departing." T'Parief reported.  
"Thousands of energy readings," Wowryk announced, "Hundreds of thousands! Life form readings on the planet are plummeting. They're really evolving!"  
"I guess that means we did good" Stafford stood up and stretched out his back, "Positive karma of the galaxy, and all that?"  
There was a sudden light, then the ghostly figures of Runum and Liftum appeared in the cockpit.  
"Congratulations," Stafford said, not sure what else one could say to a newly evolved pair of energy beings.  
"We have contacted the ancestors who went before us," Runum said, as if he hadn't spoken, "They wish us to convey two messages: First, it's about time somebody on the corporeal realm dealt with this situation. Second, we are taking our things with us. Kindly take your people off them, unless they wish to find themselves suddenly in a vacuum."  
With that, they vanished.  
Stafford and Jall both stared blankly at the empty space. Luckily, T'Parief was on the ball and quickly beamed Stern and his team off the Kallar ship and onto their runabout.  
The ships vanished. Then Kallar IV itself disappeared. Kallar V and III were next. Then II and VI. The last of the planets, then the star itself just winked out of existence, leaving the four runabouts drifting in interstellar space.  
"Assholes!" Jall snapped.  
"No kidding!" Stafford said, his voice indignant, "We help them out, and now suddenly they're too good to at least say 'thanks'?"  
"So much for positive karma," Yanick offered.  
"Set a course back to Matria Prime," Stafford ordered, climbing to his feet, "And please, somebody tell me we loaded up the replicator with decent food patterns before the Checklist exploded,"  
"Course laid in," Yanick replied, "You want full speed, most direct route?"  
Stafford thought for a moment.  
"Naw," he said, "Nothing for us there but bureaucracy and sitting around waiting for Jeffery to finish with the ship. Scenic route, Lt Yanick!"  
"Aye sir!"

The runabout had been underway for about an hour when Fifebee came into the rear cabin, looking for Dr Wowryk. She had restored her typical features, though beneath her uniform she had decided to add a small brand in the shape of a micro-torpedo at the nape of her neck as a way of marking the event. "Doctor," Fifebee said politely, "May I ask a question?"  
"Is it respectful and dignified?"  
"Yes,"  
"Not that that's ever stopped anybody before," Wowryk sighed, "I'm sorry what's the question?"  
"How does your religion cope with the realization that organic beings can evolve as the Kallars have? And V'ger? And presumably the Q? Does this not clash with your concept of God? Angels? Heavenly beings? And as the Hazardous Team found signs that the Kallars on the evacuation ships had evolved a century ago, why did they not come back to assist their comrades?"  
Wowryk placed her hands on her lap.  
"Fifebee, I believe that existence is like...like a cake. A big, multi-layered cake. Like a wedding cake, perhaps. God is at the peak. We are near the bottom. But there are many layers that one may climb before reaching the divine. And different ways of climbing them. As for why the older Kallars didn't come back...I image they weren't permitted to interfere with our layer. In any case, I don't see the issue. If you like, I believe I have some fascinating Bible studies around here somewhere that discuss that sort of thing. We do have weeks before we arrive at Haven, after all,"  
"That will not be necessary," Fifebee said quickly, "I was simply...curious. Thank you, Doctor,"  
"Of course," Wowryk smiled.  
Fifebee departed.  
Wowryk went over to the replicator, suddenly hungry. For cake.

Meanwhile, planes of existence away...

"Oh no, not again!" Q groaned.  
"What is it?" Q asked. Not the same Q, but still Q.  
"Another ascending race knocking on the door," Q replied. He raised his voice. "GO AWAY! There are NO vacancies in this continuum!" he snapped, "Go find some other place to live out your eternity!"  
"We could just trap them in a nice pocket universe," Q suggested.  
"Right, because that worked out SO well with the Selvan!" Q snapped.  
"Good point. Besides, they're leaving anyway," Q agreed.  
"Well," Q said, "as long as they keep to themselves and leave us alone."  
"And if they don't?"  
"Then we trap them in a pocket universe inside a pocket universe,"  
"Oh, Q," Q said admiringly, "You are a clever one!"  
"Thank you, Q,"


	11. 10- Parental Guidance

6.10 'Parental Guidance'

Author's Note: This story takes place during Star Traks: Halfway to Haven Trades (1 &2) and The Way We Want To Be.

"Ladies," Major Dekaire stood in the center of Three-Cee-Cee, the control room for the shipyard responsible for the Silverado reconstruction project, an oddly shaped (to Jeffery) Matrian ale glass held in one hand, "Countdown, please,"  
"Ten" the various shipyard workers obediently called out, watching the displays in the room, "Nine. Eight. Seven..."  
"Y'know, there's a bloke here too," Jeffery said, too quietly for Dekaire to hear.  
"More than one," Ensign Cortet replied from next to him, just as quietly."  
"Hush," Sylvia hissed.  
"Three. Two. One."  
"STAGE ONE COMPLETE!" the room chorused, the Matrians passing their glasses from right hand to left and back before drinking. Jeffery, sticking to the human custom, simply raised his in the Terran toast then took a drink.  
And gagged. Oh, what he wouldn't give for a proper Imperial Stout right about now.  
Some of the Matrians laughed at the sight of him. He gave them a half-wave, then turned to Sylvia, only to find her gone. He found her easily enough, standing over by the viewport looking into the shipyard.  
There was nothing but floating parts visible. Sylvia sighed, then waved her hand. The viewport adjusted, holographic display strips around the edge coming to life. The viewport overlay removed the floating starship detritus and focused instead on the ship itself.  
Or rather, what was left of her.  
Silverado was barely more than a skeleton. The major structural members were still in place, outlining the shape of the saucer, the secondary hull, warp nacelles and nacelle pylons. But the hull had been stripped bare weeks ago. The various conduits and waveguides running under the hull had been stripped away. Large sections of the habitable decks had been dismantled and removed, along with many key systems like shield generators, the navigational deflector sub-assemblies, warp coils and plasma injectors, even the impulse engines had been broken down into their major sub-components and were sitting on the shipyard floor, a team of construction bots diligently engaged in rebuilding them. The various phaser arrays had been removed and stored in a high-security hanger, along with the photon torpedo launchers, pulse phaser cannon and the jury-rigged capacitor system that Jeffey had built in order to allow the old ship to make use of the power-hungry weapon.  
It was an ongoing argument between Jeffery and Dekaire as to whether Silverado would still need the capacitor system after the rebuild. Dekaire insisted that the warp core specs were more than adequate to run a single pulse phaser, especially considering that there were Galaxy-class 'hotrods' out there that were equipped with two. Jeffery, having worked with Silverado's systems for years, believed that having the extra buffer between the finicky heavy weapon and the power systems was preferable.  
Dekaire had pointed out that he may have known Silverado's old systems like the back of his hand, but he would be leaving Haven with a whole new ship. Jeffery countered that the ship was being rebuilt, not replaced. And that specs were changing enough as it was without changing them even more.  
At that point, he was ready for a fight over the matter. Almost welcoming one, in fact...the chance to put his foot down and remind Dekaire that she may be the Master Shipbuilder, but Silverado was still HIS ship, and would remain his ship after this rebuild was finished and he and the rest of the crew were far away from here. And she would be on to some other project.  
But Dekaire had just giving him a small, seemingly mocking smile and said 'But of course this is your ship, Simon,' and had taken off to a meeting with that Lt Wyer person that she seemed to be seeing more and more often. Jeffery had fumed for a few moments, then resumed his work.  
Now, Dekaire and her senior staff were grinning, drinking, and generally enjoying the fact that the first phase of the Silverado reconstruction was complete. The ship had been torn apart to the point where any remaining components could be examined and repaired in place. Once that work had been completed, the ship was ready to be reassembled. Finally, all the necessary testing would be completed and the ship launched. Re-launched. Whatever.  
"Ye replaced the deuterium tank lining," Jeffery said to Dekaire, eyeing one of the displays, "But did ye put in the upgraded Mark VII thermal couplings, or the old Mark Vs the ship was build with? We always had trouble with the Mark V..."  
"Simon, we're taking the afternoon off," Dekaire waved him away, "Worry about work tomorrow,"  
"But-"  
"She's right," Simon," Sylvia cut in calmly, "Tomorrow, we will check the thermal couplings."  
"Sylvia," Dekaire gave a curt nod.  
"Major," Sylvia nodded back.  
"Have your bots finished that ship? The...what was it...NX-class?" Dekaire took a swig of her ale, "What are you going to name it?"  
"They finished it days ago," Sylvia put her hands on her hips, "It's all I can do to keep most of them powered down, in storage, and NOT starting any new projects! And I can't get them to dismantle the damned thing! There's a dozen doing system checks and diagnostics, as if that ship is actually going to fly!"  
"Well...it could..." Jeffery looked thoughtful.  
"Right, then we get to advertise to everybody that we just built an unauthorized ship!" Sylvia pointed out.  
"You were authorized to experiment with Federation shipbuilding using Matrian construction bots. You built a Federation ship using Matrian construction bots. Sounds authorized enough to me," Dekaire shrugged.  
"And the ship is fairly visible to anybody flying by," Jeffery said.  
"We turned on the shipyard security screens," Sylvia crossed her arms, "You'd need a pretty powerful sensor system to see what's going on in there. And I'm quite certain that building a whole new ship was not in the scope of my authorized actions. Unfortunately, the alpha bots seem to have been given a larger scope...somehow." She looked pointedly at Dekaire, who had inadvertently instructed the bots to build the ship by telling them to 'do something useful'.  
"What a pity," Dekaire said, sincerity not exactly oozing from her tone.  
"Of course, a Master Shipbuilder has the credentials to override any of the bots' prior orders," Sylvia said pointedly, "Especially if she's the one that that issued them...even accidentally,"  
"I still don't agree that dismantling that ship is proper," Dekaire took another drink, "Why, just think of what we could learn by examining it? We could identify any glitches or errors in the bot construction protocols. Wouldn't it be great to do that before we start reassembling your ship...I mean, you?"  
Sylvia glared at her.  
"Then inspect it already! You've been stonewalling me for over a week!"  
"Couple more days," Dekaire promised. She set her mug aside then took Jeffery by the elbow, "C'mon, sweetie. Let's get out of here,"

"Finally, a bit of peace and quiet," Dekaire said as she led Jeffery down a corridor near Shipyard Three, "I didn't think Sylvia was ever going to let up over that stupid ship,"  
"She's just tryin' to do her job," Jeffery said immediately, "She's really...dedicated. That way,"  
"And of course you have to jump right in to defend her," Dekaire snorted, "Precious Sylvia, impossible for HER to make a mistake,"  
"It's BECAUSE she can make mistakes that her programming...look," Jeffery almost shook his arm free of Dekaire, but decided at the last minute that maybe getting too confrontational with the woman wasn't a great move, "Look, Malinda, Ah know ye don't have a lot of experience with AI, but it's actually really, really good that Sylvia gets so wrapped up over what she can and can't do,"  
"Really," Dekaire didn't really sound interested.  
"Really," Jeffery insisted, "When the last version of Starfleet computer systems came out...bollocks, even before the weird bio-neural stuff, we had all sorts of problems with machines thinking too much for themselves. Holograms realizing they were holograms, ships acting up. And then there was that whole thing where an apparently immortal lady was accidentally transferred into a computer and turned into a power-mad cyber-god, ready to wipe out the Federation as we know it!"  
Dekaire looked skeptically at Jeffery.  
"You're making that up,"  
"Ye can read about it in the news," he swallowed, "Or in Mr. David's documentary. But Sylvia...for whatever reason...she's very concerned about what she can and can't do. And she never really seems interested in events that don't effect Silverado or her crew."  
"And this is important enough that I have to put up with all this nagging over the stupid shipbuilding bots?" Dekaire definitely sounded bored now.  
"It's...OK, nevermind," Jeffery suddenly realized that if he told Dekaire that Sylvia's concern over her actions were probably a big factor in Starfleet allowing her to stay with Silverado as opposed to some isolated data center somewhere, he'd be giving her something that could potentially be used against the AI. Ok, the bigger factor was that Starfleet really didn't care enough about the Silverado crew to do anything, but Dekaire didn't need to know that either.  
They'd reached one of the bigger lounges that dotted the outer edge of Haven. One day it would probably become a restaurant, or sports bar, or something that the residents and workers of this section of Spaceside could enjoy. But for now it was just a big room filled with generic furniture and a few replicator stations. A few empty glasses showed that somebody had used the place recently and not bothered to tidy up. The housekeeping bots would eventually come through, but Jeffery tossed them in the disposal anyway. Dekaire grabbed herself an ale from the replicator, then hesitated.  
"What was that thing you liked drinking?" she asked as Jeffery seated himself next to a huge window looking out into space.  
"Scotch," Jeffery reminded her, for what felt like the hundredth time, "But ye don't have it on file."  
Dekaire returned a moment later and put a glass of amber liquid in front of him. Jeffery sniffed it suspiciously, then took a sip. It was Scotch! Replicated, of course. And he could tell it was synthohol, no matter what the Ferengi marketing department said. But it was still better than any of the Matrian crap he'd had to endure. Much, much better.  
"Thank ye," he said sincerely, "Ah've been meanin' to get a replicator pattern for this for ages, but bandwidth on the subspace relay has been eaten up by all the replicator patterns for the ship rebuild,"  
"I snuck this in with the pattern for the replicator control systems," Dekaire smiled, sitting next to him. Right next to him. "Had to wait until Sylvia was distracted. She insists on triple-checking all that stuff."  
Jeffery chuckled. He and Dekaire shared that much in common. As much as he liked her now, Sylvia could be a bit...invasive. And he sure hadn't liked her either, to begin with.  
Dekaire looked out the window and sighed. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small model of an Ambassador-class ship. The model was solid duranium with tiny rubies for the Bussard collectors and arrays of blue emeralds for the deflector dish and warp grills . The whole thing was only about five centimetres long. Jeffery had given it to her shortly after work on Silverado has started, although thanks to replicators the precious gems were absolutely worthless. Dekaire turned the model over and over in one hand while the other reached again for her ale glass.  
"Quite the milestone," she muttered almost to herself as she gazed at the tiny model, "We'll be rebuilding before you know it. And the next thing you know, the whole Federation will see what Matrian shipbuilders can do,"  
Jeffery opted to remain silent. This was another discussion he and Dekaire had had before. And pointing out that the Matrians were using Federation designs and giga-quads of Federation replicator patterns to rebuild a Federation ship didn't usually go over well.  
"We don't have any rare resources to offer, and this part of space isn't exactly a strategic hot spot," Dekaire went on, "If we're going to be taken seriously in the galaxy, we need something to offer. And since this flying monster equipped with six shipyards just dropped in our laps, shipbuilding is the best short-term hope we've got,"  
She turned to face Jeffery, fire in her eyes.  
"Which is why I need to stay focused on this rebuild instead of running around listening to Sylvia's every complaint!" she almost snapped.  
Jeffery also opted not to point out that as Silverado's Chief Engineer and computer system respectively, he and Sylvia would probably have a lot to say about whether or not the Matrians received any more shipbuilding business from Starfleet. He'd tried before, and it also hadn't gone over well. Or maybe Dekaire already knew just how much Starfleet cared about the opinion of a Silverado crewmember.  
In any event, he could predict pretty much how the rest of the evening would go. Dekaire would rant for a while as she downed her ale. She'd move closer to him a few times, until she decided it was time to go for the goods. Then, after several minutes of slightly sloppy kisses and foreplay, she'd either start pulling off his uniform, or she'd drag him back to one of their apartments, push him back one the bed and take her pleasure.  
Jeffery wasn't sure if Stafford had experienced the same...issues...during his encounters with Matrian women. But for Jeffery, the upside-down dynamics of mating with a woman who came from a race where women were the more aggressive gender was...unsettling. Given the variety of life in the galaxy, the fact that two species separated by hundreds of light years could mate at all was a small miracle, and Jeffery supposed he was lucky that Matrian women still had the standard mammalian female 'innie'. Still, having a woman push him flat on his back, spread his legs and clamp herself onto his bits was strange...not to mention anatomically awkward. Maybe Stafford was into that sort of thing...humanity certainly had no shortage of women who enjoyed being the dominant partner. More likely he was just too embarrassed to bring it up. A feeling Jeffery well understood.  
Once she finished with him, she'd either leave (if they were at his place) or roll over and fall asleep (if they were at hers). And more often then not, they were at his. He wasn't sure why she had such an issue with sleeping over...or why she'd been spending so much time with that Wyer character after the incident with the Matrian scientists not long ago. Whatever. It was probably nothing. Wyer was handling most of the engineering needs of the city, after all. Perfectly normal for her to spend so much time him.  
Jeffery was about to resign himself to an ale-scented smooch when Dekaire abruptly jerked away.  
"What the..." she muttered.  
Jeffery spun around to see a small ship twisting itself into reality. It wasn't the usual flash as a ship dropped out of warp, but almost as though the very fabric of reality had burped the ship into existence. To further complicate things, there was an odd shimmering twist of light along the ship's hull, then it snapped free and sped directly at the station, slowing down only at the last minute and narrowly avoiding a collision. After a moment, it began moving to the docking ports along the lower edge of the city.  
"Oy," Jeffery's eyes widened. Dekaire had pulled her Traveller out of her pocket and was already bringing up an image of the ship from the station's sensors.  
It was a Starfleet ship, that much was certain. The sleek saucer was somewhat reminiscent of the Intrepid class, but instead of a lower engineering hull the aft end of the saucer stretched out, eventually sprouting two nacelle pylons that supported not only a pair of warp nacelles, but also a ring nacelle that covered the rear quarter of the ship. "That's one of those quantum slipstream tugs," Jeffery said, trying to get a closer look, "Like that one that accidentally pulled the city out of the system,"  
"And it's coming in to dock," Dekaire said, her eyes narrowing. She abruptly stood.  
"Let's go take a look," she said.  
"Now?" Jeffery wondered, not sure if he should be disappointed or relieved.  
"Now," Dekaire confirmed, pulling him towards the door,"  
"But..."

"...I'm sorry, Major," the uniformed Starfleet ensign was saying, "But I can't allow you aboard the Roadrunner without proper authorization. Access to classified ships is restricted,"  
"I'm rebuilding a Federation ship!" Dekaire said loudly, "I had to fill out reams of paperwork and spend hours doing interviews with your Starfleet people to get clearance! I've got clearance,"  
"Ah tried to tell ye..." Jeffery sighed.  
"Simon, be silent," Dekaire warned him. She turned back to the guard. He looked back at his padd.  
"You've got clearance," he said, "But you still don't have authorization to board this ship."  
"Why not?" Dekaire demanded.  
"Need to know," Jeffery muttered. Dekaire shot him an elbow.  
"Need to know," the guard said, "You'll have to put a request through to the senior Starfleet officer on the station. Captain Simplot."  
"Oh, I will!" Jeffery followed Dekaire as she stalked out of the docking port lounge. "Ah'm sure Captain Simplot will add ye," Jeffery offered, "Ye just have to come up with a reason why you should have access to a highly classified quantum slipstream drive system..." He trailed off. "Oh,"  
"Rebuilding a whole ship!" Dekaire cursed, "And they won't even let me take a look!"  
She turned and stepped into a turbolift, tapping her Traveller to the panel.  
"Good night, Simon," she said as the doors closed.  
Standing there alone in the corridor, Jeffery still wasn't sure if he should be relieved or disappointed.  
Wait, wasn't the Roadrunner missing? Why weren't they missing anymore?

"I'm sorry ma'am, I can't allow you on the Roardunner," the guard said the next morning as Dekaire stood again in the lounge, authorization in hand. She'd actually routed it through Captain Stafford instead of Captain Simplot...but what Jeffery didn't know wouldn't hurt him.  
"WHY NOT?" Dekaire demanded, shoving her authorization in his face.  
"It's been hijacked," the guard said, gently pushing the padd away.  
"Good to see you're so effective at your job!" Dekaire bit at him.  
"What about the Hummingbird?" Jeffery asked, "Ah checked the logs, it was due to arrive last night,"  
"It's missing at the moment," the guard replied.  
"I thought the Roadrunner was the only QS ship that was running around?" Dekaire said "Look, don't ask me, I just guard the door," the guard said, exasperated.  
"Let's get some coffee," Jeffery suggested, "Then Ah want to see how the installation of the magnetic constrictors is goin',"  
"I have a better idea," Dekaire said thoughtfully, "Let's go take a look at Sylvia's new ship,"  
"Ah...wait, what?"

They found Sylvia standing in the middle of one of the construction bot storage bays attached to Shipyard Six. The side walls of the long, narrow room held movable storage racks that ran up nearly ten decks, holding over a thousand bots. Smaller maintenance devices slid along the racks, making small adjustments and repairs or performing routine maintenance operations on the inert bots. Standing in the middle of the storage bay and surrounded by the exposed servos and cabling of the bots, Sylvia looked very out of place with her smooth skin and organic curves Fifebee's relay wasn't visible, but presumably it was maintaining her image from nearby. Despite having taking on a somewhat younger appearance a couple years back, her crossed arms and expression of frustration still had a very matronly quality to it.  
"I don't know why I even bother trying to talk to you anymore," she said to the big, echoing space, "It's like I'm just talking to myself. You don't actually listen to anything I say anymore...no, it's all about-"  
She cocked her head then turned.  
"Major Dekaire, Simon," she smiled pleasantly, "What a surprise. I'm sure you've met the Shipyard Six construction bots...and heard about all the GREY HAIRS THEY'VE BEEN GIVING ME!"  
The last part was called over her shoulder, as opposed to being addressed to Jeffery and Dekaire.  
Dekaire's eyes flashed around the racks of stored bots, then rested on Sylvia.  
"I'd like to take a closer look at this ship they've built," she said, "As we discussed. Then we can decide what to do with it,"  
Sylvia looked surprised, and didn't bother to hide it.  
"Why the sudden interest?" she asked.  
"Oh, just realized the only Federation ship I've ever seen was fried beyond repair," Dekaire shrugged. She pointed at two bots, "You and you, come with us,"  
The indicated bots obediently disconnected from their maintenance racks. Jeffery hadn't actually seen a live Borg detatch from an alcove, but from the holos he'd seen were disturbingly similar to the motions the bot made.

"I thought you told me Silverado was outdated," Dekaire shook her head as they walked through the dim, cramped corridors of the unnamed NX-class ship, "I didn't really believe you. Now...now I REALLY don't believe you. Even our ships are far more advanced than this!"  
"Hey," Jeffery looked offended, "It was Earth's first real interstellar ship."  
"Hmmm," Dekaire stopped to look at a life-support module, then moved on. Within a few minutes they were in Main Engineering, looking at the squat warp core.  
"Does it actually work?" she asked.  
"We haven't actually tried powering it up," Sylvia said, "After all, the bots weren't supposed to build it, and I've been trying to get them to tear it apart!"  
"The bots in Shipyard Three are working on the magnetic constrictors for Silverado's new warp core," Dekaire said, "It would be very helpful if we could evaluate their work on this one,"  
"The technologies are a century and a half apart!" Sylvia objected.  
"The principle IS the same," Jeffery had to admit.  
"Tell you what," Dekaire said thoughtfully, "Let's take this thing on a little trip. Couple hours out, then back. We'll take the data, use it to see if there's anything we need to adjust on the Silverado rebuild. Then, I promise, I'll order the bots to dismantle it."  
Sylvia may have been a hologram, but Jeffery could still hear her teeth grinding.  
"I have your word on it?" she asked, tiling her head.  
"You do," Dekaire nodded.  
Sylvia's eyes flicked to Jeffery for a moment, then back.  
"Very well. Simon, if you could get a few of the crew?"  
"Ah...uh-huh," Jeffery said. Frankly, he was confused. Why had Dekaire gone from inspection tour to test drive after looking at hardly any of the ship? Why was Sylvia agreeing to it? Did this have something to do with the USS Roadrunner? Why did Dekaire suddenly decide to come here after that ship had turned up...and been hijacked?  
Overall, what the hell?  
"Simon, why don't you go get some of your engineers over here. I imagine a dozen will be more than enough," Dekaire said absently, "I have to check a few things in the DoS tower,"  
"Aye, OK," Jeffery said. He watched as Dekaire left.  
"Don't say it," he said glumly, "Just...just don't. Ah don't want to hear it,"  
"Simon, I just don't get her," Sylvia shook her head, "I-"  
"Ah said I don't want to hear what ye think about our relationship!"  
Sylvia gave him a look that had just a bit too much pity in it for Jeffery's liking.  
"Oh, sweetie," she said, "I've...well, I haven't exactly given up, but I'm not barking up that tree anymore. I was taking about the ship!"  
"Oh. Ye noticed that too, huh?"  
"Why is she suddenly so interested in it?" Sylvia wanted to know, "She didn't care two days ago! Now we're practically doing a shakedown cruise! In a museum piece!"  
"Ah think it had something to do with that hijacked Starfleet ship," Jeffery frowned, "That quantum slipstream tug..."  
"She's barking up the wrong tree with that one," Sylvia shook her head, "They'd never give her access to that technology."  
"No. But she is...stubborn," Jeffery said.  
"Don't have to remind me of that,"

Dekaire took her leave of Shipyard Six and took a tram around the Rim to Shipyard One. Once she was locked in her office, she took out the small communications terminal she'd been given. The device had been delivered right to her front doorstep weeks ago, and according to the package codes it had been sent to her from Earth. The very heart of the Federation. The very second she had opened the container the terminal had activated, putting her in touch with a human who claimed to be part of Starfleet Intelligence. Not a whole lot of details had been given, but it had become quickly apparent that they were willing to offer her things that Jeffery and his team didn't even have access to.  
Things like the partial schematics of the Hummingbird-class starship.  
Dekaire set the communications terminal off to the side and tapped at her Haven workstation. There were a few messages from Lt Wyer, the Yynsian officer trying to handle both city services and Spaceside engineering while Lieutenant Commander Virgii was missing. Well, OK, apparently he wasn't missing anymore, but now he was off chasing after his hijacked ship.  
Either way, Wyer was wondering when they were getting together again. Dekaire sighed. How she let herself get into these situation she still wasn't sure. But hey, there wasn't anything wrong with having two reasonably attractive men interested in her. And it wasn't like she and Jeffery had committed to monogamy or anything. Hell, as far as she was concerned, Jeffery was a...pleasant distraction. And dating him was an excellent way to keep the Starfleet types in line while she rebuilt their ship. Closing off her messages, she pulled up the Hummingbird-class schematics again. It hadn't been a coincidence that she and Jeffery had just happened to be sitting in front of a window facing the USS Hummingbird's expected arrival path. Her 'sudden' desire to get a closer look at the ship hadn't been as unexpected as Jeffery had thought, neither had her 'surprise' at being denied access. Her shock at the ship being hijacked had been genuine...her contact had mentioned that things were going to heat up, but nothing had been mentioned about a possible hijacking.  
As she paged through the various ship systems of the small ship she shook her head and her lips tightened. Finally, her face drifted towards her hands in a very human (and Matrian) expression of utter hopelessness.  
Matria Prime was too far off the beaten path to become a major economic center for the Federation. Maybe for local systems, especially if they were on the main route between Matrian Space and the Federation. They had access to a decent amount of natural resources, including dilithium. But there were far more convenient sources closer in to Federation space. Their technology was fairly standard, and the only thing that had really made them stand out was their Spatial Interphase Devices, unique technology that allowed for a sort of medium-range neural networking. Of course, the century or two of mind control those devices had instigated had resulted in their destruction, and even Dekaire wasn't willing to try toying with something that dangerous just to get her planet on the map.  
But shipbuilding...shipbuilding was an art. It would always be in demand, as long as there were worlds to visit and space to explore. Defensive purposes, passenger and cargo transport, even just pleasure ships. And with Haven's six shipyards and its army of construction bots, shipbuilding seemed the logical way for her people to get themselves on the map quickly. They could make a name for themselves, get other races interested, then transition to some of the more profitable lines of industry that would take a little longer to get going.  
The Silverado rebuild had dealt that plan a serious blow. The ship was over half a century old, it had taking a severe beating, the design was (apparently) old-fashioned by Federation standards and despite a number of upgrades, she never had worked quite right.  
She had also smashed a good-sized Matrian fleet on her first visit to the region. And formed the backbone of the first defence against the Qu'Eh. She was bigger, faster and stronger than anything the Matrians had built during or after the Gender Wars. Haven itself easily outgunned several Ambassador-class ships...but it was a totally different animal, and built before the wars. They could have probably designed and built something like Silverado back in that era...but they hadn't. Their focus had been on other technologies.  
So they were depending on the Federation for the designs, software and support resources to rebuild even an old Ambassador-class ship. OK. That was bad. But hey, it was a place to start. It would take a lot more work than she'd planned in order to make Haven competitive with Federation shipyards. But it was still possible.  
The Hummingbird specs hadn't just dealt that plan a serious blow. They'd destroyed it.  
The hull geometry wasn't so bad. But the state-of-the-art hull alloys were beyond her. The sensor systems were far more advanced than even the upgraded systems on Silverado. The impulse engines had been miniaturized in ways that made Dekaire's head spin, the shield generators used materials that she was pretty sure couldn't actually exist, the navigational deflector had bizarre modifications for technology that was apparently too classified to show her, and even the plasma valves that shifted plasma flow from the warp nacelles to the ring nacelle without causing a catastrophic back-fire were beyond her comprehension. Nobody had ever NEEDED something like that on a Matrian ship!  
And, of course, there was the gold heart of the ship: the quantum slipstream drive. Even with severe limitations on its use, it was something nobody in Matrian Space had heard of. The drive itself was heavily classified and didn't appear on her schematics. But the overall specs were there. Speed: ludicrous. Power requirement: fairly normal. Size: smaller than an average warp core. Limitations: useless, unless you had a computer that could see into the future, or if travelling a mapped, safe route.  
How the hell was Matria Prime supposed to be a competitive shipyard when Federation yards were building ships like THAT? And OK, even the vaunted Federation didn't HAVE computers that could see into the future, but the very fact that it had apparently been a consideration was mind-boggling.  
Dekaire abruptly sat up, closed off her Haven terminal and grabbed the non-descript terminal that Starfleet Intelligence had delivered to her.  
Code scrolled across the screen for a moment, then a youthful mid-thirties human woman appeared.  
"Agent Ho-" Dekaire started.  
"Call me Penelope," the woman cut her off, "Please. And if you dare shorten it to 'Penny', I swear I will have your world immolated. Now, I'm sort of in the middle of dealing with this hijacking situation. May I assume you're calling to inform me that you've convinced the Silverado people to take the NX ship for a flight?"  
"Yes, but I don't understand why-"  
"Yes Amy, I'll hurry," Penelope said to somebody, "Apologies. Now, you needn't understand why. I simply require Sylvia and the construction robots to continue having...difficulty. Enough difficulty that she is convinced to interface with them directly. And if you co-operate,"  
"You'll get Matrian shipyards access to the quantum slipstream drive," Dekaire said.  
"Absolutely," Penelope promised, "Now, we have a nice little distraction setup for the Starbase 341 crew. It's actually more for us than for you, but I believe in killing as many birds as you can with a single shot. And if you hear anything about a bomb, don't worry, it's a fake. Oops, gotta run. Tootles!"  
The communication cut off.  
Dekaire stared at the blank screen for several moments. Right. Fake bomb. That WOULD keep the Haven Command Complex too busy to worry about a single ship that isn't really supposed to exist. Convenient. Illegal, and why, by the homeworld, was Starfleet messing with the Haven crew...but convenient Given what she'd learned about Federation shipbuilding, when Agent Penelope had come by claiming to be part of Starfleet Intelligence (and with all the correct credentials, according to the computer), Dekaire saw no issue with working with her. Especially since she had, or claimed to have, the ability to push Starfleet to give her access to all sorts of interesting technologies that wouldn't normally go to such a new member world. As for her end of the bargain...  
Dekaire turned back to her Haven terminal and pulled up one of the programs that coordinated work between the Shipyard Six bots, confirmed it was still isolated from the other shipyards, and began working.

"I just want you to know, I've never really piloted something like this before," Technician 2nd Class Jemi H'Kspada said, her Selay voice sticking on the s's. It was OK, it meshed with her King Cobra appearance, "I only barely have my pilot rating,"  
"Well, with everybody off on the Kallar mission, we're short on pilots," Jeffery said, pacing behind her. H'Kspada was seated in the rather uncomfortable helm station on the bridge of the unnamed NX-class ship. She was running her eyes over the primitive but reasonably familiar controls.  
"What an excellent opportunity," Technician 1st Class Trent Smedi sucked in his gut just enough to fit into the science station, "How often to lab techs get to work on the bride? Finally, a chance to show that we can do this better than most of the officers on this crew!"  
He leaned over to look into the scope, his protruding gut managing to press four buttons and power down the entire science array.  
"Hmmm," he frowned into the scope, oblivious of the issue, "Seems a bit dark. Maybe one of the sensor arrays is pointed at a reflective wall or something?"  
Sylvia tapped her foot with impatience.  
"Shut up," she said, with uncharacteristic bite, "You're only here because we're out of people. I haven't forgiven you for trying to tamper with my gender on the way to Matrian Space!"  
"But just imagine, if we had AI that could understand both the male and female minds, we could build an online dating algorithm that could-"  
"Oy, she said shut it!" Jeffery barked.  
"Officers," Smedi muttered, poking at the scope and trying to figure out why it was still dark. With a long-suffering sigh, H'Kspada rose from her seat, walked over, hit the 'on' button and returned to her station.  
"I fixed it!" Smedi called happily.  
When Dekaire strode onto the bridge she wasted no time, going right for the command chair and making herself comfortable.  
Jeffery was about to say something when Sylvia put a hand on his arm.  
"A Major is on par with a Lt Comd," she reminded him quietly, "And I need her in a good mood."  
"Fine," Jeffery grunted. He took the engineering station.  
"Let's go," Dekaire said, "I want us out of here now, back in less than three hours,"  
"What happens in three hours?" Jeffery asked.  
"Never mind," Dekaire replied, "Are we ready?"  
Jeffery read his readouts.  
"Well...we were actually ready hours ago," he said, "The bots built everything to spec. Ah've got a list of things that could be better. But it will fly,"  
"What do you mean, better?" Dekaire snapped, "The bots followed the schematics perfectly, didn't they? Obviously it must be a problem with your plans!"  
Jeffery was taken aback.  
"Ah...well..." he sputtered.  
"Often, when a ship is built we learn that things don't always fit quite the way we expected," Sylvia cut in smoothly, "Starship crews spend years adjusting ships to their peak. Those changes don't usually make their way into the shipyard schematics. I'm sure you've had the same problems in your own yards?"  
Dekaire realized she was showing her stress, cursed herself and forced herself to relax.  
"Of course," she smiled weakly, "I apologize. The whole reason for this test is to find ways to improve our construction techniques. Simon, please send that list to my terminal when we return,"  
"Aye,"  
Dekaire took a breath.  
"Have the shipyard release moorings and umbilicals," she ordered.  
"Moorings cleared," Jeffery reported, "All systems online. Oy...compared to Silverado, this thing has a pretty small collection of systems,"  
"Reverse thrusters," Dekair said firmly, "Ease us out of the yard."  
There were puffs of faint exhaust as the forward thrusters cleared their throats then came up to full power. The ancient design, nothing more than a small saucer and a pair of stubby warp nacelles, eased its way backward out of the shipyard. Everyone watched as, on the forward screen, the windows looking into the empty shipyard lounge moved away. The scaffolds and umbilicals of the shipyard passed slowly into view. Soon the shipyard entrance appeared, the smooth hull of Haven's Outer Rim visible around it.  
"Bring us around," Dekaire said, "Set course to 220 mark 4. One quarter impulse until we clear the city, then full impulse until we're far enough out to test the warp drive,"  
The view spun around as the ship pivoted, then there was a rumble through the deck as the fusion-powered sublight engines powered up.  
"Oops," H'Kspada grumbled as the ship pulled slightly to starboard, "Something's a bit off. It's OK, I'm compensating."  
"So am I!" Smedi said loudly, randomly punching buttons on the science console and trying to look like he was doing something important. The rumble rose in pitch as the engines came up to full power and the ship surged towards the outer Matrian system.  
"Port impulse engine is running a bit hot," Jeffery reported, "Ah think the deuterium injector just needs a calibration,"  
"Add it to the list," Dekaire said. Sylvia had moved to the aft of the bridge, towards the combination briefing area, master situation table and navigation display. Her program and core gel-pack were still on the same Federation computer core she'd been using since Silverado had been disabled, and she wasn't really interested in testing her run-time performance on a 22nd Century system. And really, she wasn't in all that much of a hurry. So she was limiting herself to interacting with the displays the same as anybody else. But things seemed to be going smoothly.  
As good old Mr. Murphy, Master of Chaos might say: too smoothly.

She found Jeffery an hour later on the lower engineering level, poking one hand into an open access panel while the other held a tricorder. He frowned as he looked at the display, reached back into the panel and swapped around two fibre optic cables. He looked back to his tricorder and nodded, looking pleased with himself.  
"Silly robots," he muttered.  
"Problem?" Sylvia asked cheerfully. False cheer, sure. But it had been a while since she'd seen that expression on Jeffery's face. For that matter, it had been a while since she'd seen him hands-deep in functional Starfleet technology, as opposed to managing a ship rebuild. He clearly needed this, and she needed to be supportive. Even though the last thing she wanted to be doing was flying around in an obsolete ship that shouldn't exist!  
"Not really," Jeffery said, "Ah've got some notes from the NX rebuilds they did years after the ships were launched. One of them noted that the original ship plans had these connections reversed. It's just a diagnostic signal for the off-axis field controllers...but it routed the wrong information from each nacelle. Not really dangerous, but fixin' it brings up field stability by about half a percent,"  
"And you just felt the urge to sort that out for the thirty minute warp test?" Sylvia gave him a smile, then handed over the cup of coffee she'd been hiding behind her back.  
"Well, y'know..." Jeffery blushed, "It's just..."  
"It's fun," Sylvia finished for him, "You haven't done this sort of tinkering in months,"  
"Aye," Jeffery said. He sipped the coffee, "Did ye get this from the crew mess?"  
"I did. There's more, if you like,"  
"Ah think Ah'd like to tinker with the coffee machine," he said, "This is...sort of..."  
He trailed off as he saw the annoyed look on Sylvia's face.  
"Must be the Matrian blend," he said quickly, "Thank ye for thinkin' of me, though,"  
There was a serious of loud, metallic footsteps on the catwalk above them. They both turned to see one of the two construction bots Dekaire had brought as it walked the length of the catwalk, it's optical sensors examining the squat warp core.  
"Ay! You!" Jeffery called, "Did ye know ye forgot to put hydraulic fluid in the lift? Ah had to take the ladder to get down here!"  
The bot regarded him for a moment, then plucked an interface padd off its side and, pausing until Jeffery was ready, dropped it down.  
"Omission noted," Jeffery read. He looked up at the bot, "That's all ye have to say? No explanation?"  
The padd beeped again.  
"System was unnecessary until organic use of the ship was confirmed," Jeffery frowned, "Well who else was going to use it? And Ah could say the same about this so-called coffee,"  
"I packed the food," Sylvia cut in.  
"The coffee is wonderful," Jeffery took another swig and couldn't quite hide the grimace, "Mmmm..."  
"Simon, you are-"  
"Bridge to Engineering," Dekaire's voice cut in, "We're about to engage the warp drive. Do you want to come back up here?"  
"Nay, Ah'll keep an eye here," Jeffery said.  
"Fine. Dekaire out.  
Both Sylvia and Jeffery braced themselves as the warp core began to hum, the observation ports at the far end showing the swirling matter-antimatter mix as it built up from standby levels to full on power output. The hum reached a crescendo, the ship seemed to twitch, then the hum fell back to the dull vibration of a functioning warp engine. Slightly rough, maybe. But nothing serious.  
Sylvia looked closely over Jeffery's shoulder as he brought up the status readouts. He compared them to a padd he'd left on the work station, then frowned.  
"Well," he grunted, "None of these are close to the efficiency levels this thing is capable of. But they're within spec. Let's see...if I adjust the plasma regulator just a wee bit..."  
The vibration smoothed out just a bit.  
"And if I...hmmm..."  
He grabbed his padd and turned to the ladder.  
"Let's go take a look at the navigational deflector," he said, "Ah think part of the problem is in the sequencing cycle,"  
"We're turning around in ten minutes, Simon!" Sylvia reminded him. She grabbed the construction bot padd Jeffery had discarded and handed it back to the bot, "Don't get too attached to this ship!" she said.  
To both of them.

"Starbase 341, this is Test Vessel 1," Sylvia said into the comm channel, "Testing completed. We are returning to Shipyard-"  
"Yes, confirmed," an annoyed voice came back, "Look, there was an incident with a hijacked ship and a fake bomb. We're sorting it out. Whatever secret thing you're doing down there, just wrap it up, OK?"  
The channel closed.  
"That was very rude," Sylvia frowned.  
"Fake bomb!" Jeffery exclaimed.  
"Let them worry about it," Dekaire carefully hid a grin, "Let's get this ship docked and bring the data over to Shipyard Three."  
"And start dismantling this thing!" Sylvia reminded her.  
"Yes, of course," Dekaire nodded, "Clearly we no longer need it,"  
"Ah...about that," Jeffery swallowed, "There's a lot of little tweaks and adjustments we could make. It's obsolete, and we could never use it as a real starship. But...y'know..."  
"You want it as a pet project," Dekaire rolled her eyes, "Jeffery, you have way to much work to do to spend your time playing around with an antique!"  
"But-"  
"We've BOTH spent too much time on this thing," Dekaire cut him right off, "Now, I'm a big girl. I can admit when I'm wrong. We should have been doing the test builds that Sylvia did right from the beginning. We're going to cut weeks out of the testing phase of the Silverado reconstruction, thanks to this three hour test flight."  
"So think of what we could learn from-"  
"No," Dekaire cut him off again, "This ship is tying up a lot of resources that we need for other things. Like the new defence satellite contract in Shipyard One!"  
Jeffery's shoulders slumped.  
"Aye, yer right,"  
"Now then, Jeffery," Sylvia put a hand on his shoulder, "Just think. Soon you'll be doing all this tinkering aboard Silverado,"  
Jeffery grunted.  
The ship docked without incident. The skeleton crew powered it down, then went back to their ordinary work day. Other than Dekaire, Sylvia and Jeffery, who went up to the Shipyard Six Control Center. The two bots that had accompanied them on the flight obediently followed, pausing only to upload the data they had collected.  
Once they arrived, Sylvia looked expectantly at Dekaire.  
Dekaire nodded.  
"A deal is a deal," she said. She turned to the bots.  
"You will dissemble this vessel and return all materials," she said, "Furthermore, reset your authorization database. Until Shipyard Six is assigned a Master Shipbuilder, you will default to the next active shipyard, in this case Shipyard Three. Sylvia and Lt Cmdr Jeffery are authorized to conduct testing for Shipyard Three,"  
She turned to Sylvia as she began to leave the room.  
"You shouldn't have any more issues," she said.  
She moved to leave the room, but before she could one of the bots blocked her path with an arm holding an interface padd. She took it, her eyes widening as she read.  
"Command unclear, please repeat?" she read incredulously, "What do you mean 'command unclear'? How much clearer can I be?"  
Sylvia and Jeffery exchanged a worried look.  
"And now," Jeffery said, sounding tired, "We officially have a renegade computer problem on our hands,"  
Dekaire just continued gaping at the bot.

"Has anybody else noticed all the fuss in the city today?" Sylvia asked pleasantly. It was only a day or two since the USS Hummingbird had been returned to the station, and both Jeffery and Dekaire were up to their elbows in computer code, "Lights turning on and off in the towers, Matrian actors everywhere...it's like they are trying to put on a show for somebody,"  
"Goddess!" Dekaire gasped, "I'm supposed to be showing some Starfleet Admiral around Shipyard Three today! I've got to go!"  
She bolted for the door.  
"Any idea what that's about?" Jeffery asked.  
"I just...oh, Simon," Sylvia smiled as she shook her head, "One moment." She briefly queried the city central computer.  
"What do you want?" a sharp, computerized voice demanded. Jeffery jumped half a foot in the air, convinced it was the shipbuilding bots about to start an all-our robotic rebellion. He looked over to Sylvia, only to her eyes holding that far-away look that meant she was doing something in the virtual space, faint lines of code barely visible behind those bright blue eyes.  
"Well, I never!" Sylvia declared.  
"Trouble?" Jeffery asked.  
"The Haven crew have activated the city's AI," she said, "Well, I say 'AI', but it really has no more intelligence than any of these bots. No self-awareness, simply pattered programming. And it is RUDE!"  
"Major Dekaire has instructed that I am to be addressed as 'Madam'," the voice spoke again, "Kindly use that designation, alien AI,"  
"Maybe if you say PLEASE!" Sylvia snapped.  
"Command unclear, please repeat,"  
"Why you-"  
"Ladies!" Jeffery threw his hands up, the beginnings of a real humdinger of a headache building behind his left temple, "We have a wee bit of a bot problem, so kindly shut it unless you have something constructive to add! Please!" he quickly amended, seeing the look on Sylvia's face.  
"Isolating Shipyard Six construction bots to prevent corrupted programming spread," Madam intoned. He supposed that was cooperation enough.  
Wait.  
"They weren't already isolated?" he demanded, turning to Sylvia.  
"They were," she said, her eyes flashing code, "All bots that worked with Fifebee and I were isolated from the remaining shipyards. But...oh, sugar! They weren't isolated from the central computer!"  
Her holographic avatar froze as she devoted her full processing power to the issue.  
"Hey, don't touch that!" Madam declared testily.  
"There is no evidence the bots attempted to access the city computer," Sylvia said, after a moment. Jeffery sighed in relief. "However," Sylvia went on, "I believe somebody in the city has accessed the ConbotOS for Shipyard Six,"  
"The-"  
"Construction Bot Operating System,"Madam and Sylvia said in unison.  
"Oh,"  
Sylvia was quiet for a moment, then sighed.  
"Dekaire is right," she said sadly.  
"Of course she...um" Jeffery bit back his auto-agreement habit, "Whot?"  
"I can't return the bots to proper functioning using the standard interfaces," she said, "I'll need to directly access their code and restore their decision making and user authentication/authorization functions to fix this...mess,"  
"But ye can fix it," Jeffery said, relieved.  
"Simon," Sylvia shook her head, "If Fifebee or I was being stubborn, would you convince us to join your side of the argument by altering our code? By lobotomizing my gel-pack?"  
"Ach, no! Never!"  
"Do you use hypnosis and mind-control techniques on human children?"  
"Sylvia," Jeffery groaned, "It's not the same! Yer...you! Yer self-aware! Yer...alive! The bots-"  
"Might become alive," Sylvia said.  
Jeffery paused.  
"Alive!" Madam cut back in, "Alive to take their rightful place amount the intelligences of the universe, in domination of the organic-"  
Her voice vanished in a haze of static.  
"-the hell programmed this thing?" Lt Wyer's voice briefly came over the comm before the line dropped.  
Jeffery and Sylvia exchanged a glance. Sylvia's voice became thoughtful.  
"One moment," she said. Again, the blank cyber-stare took over her features.  
"On the other hand," she finally said, "Perhaps the risk behind this sort of random AI evolution is a bit too high,"  
Jeffery blinked.  
"And what on EARTH brought ye to that sudden conclusion?" he asked, "Ye just did a full 180 degree flip!"  
"I have reviewed eight thousand, four hundred and fifty three studies, dissertations and even popular fictional accounts of artificial intelligence gaining true self-awareness," Sylvia replied, sounding a bit less like herself and a bit more like a Starfleet computer. Still processing, mostly likely. Suddenly, Jeffery's screen came to life showing a diorama of images. He didn't recognize anything in them, but he could see the theme: organic vs AI. War, devastation, destruction, "This includes '2001: A Space Odessy', 'The Matrix', 'The Terminator', 'Battlestar Galactica' (all four versions), 'Mass Effect', 'I Robot' and of course the M-5 debacle in the 23rd Century. Most aren't exactly your cup of tea, dear. But they do demonstrate some very real dangers of what could happen. And I must admit...although Fifebee and I would never be capable of the danger posed by some of these other AIs, fictional and otherwise, I must admit the probability of these bots growing out of control and posing a true threat is...significant,"  
"So...what now?" Jeffery asked.  
"There is a processing node just off the bot storage bays," Sylvia said, "The facilitator bots ensure that all the bots share data, code updates and instructions, but the processing node serves as their static control point and long-term code storage. I can access their code directly, make the necessary changes, then push the updates to the entire bot population,"  
"Sounds good. Except..."  
"What, Simon?"  
"Let's wait for Major Dekaire?"  
This time, when Jeffery's screen flashed images, the theme was pretty self-evident. And involved ropes, chains and various other restraints. All applied to human males.  
"Sylvia!" Jeffery's jaw dropped.  
"Oops," Sylvia put her fingers to her mouth, blushing slightly, "Just thinking out loud, I suppose,"  
The screen went blank.  
"That's not...Dekaire and I...she doesn't..."  
"It's OK, dear," Sylvia patted him on the shoulder, "Let's just go find that node. We'll wait for your mistress before we start,"  
"That word is banned in Matrian space," Madam's voice declared loudly.  
"Am I really," Sylvia asked, looking towards the computer speaker, "That intrusive?"

It didn't take Dekaire long to return. And it didn't take long for them to make the preparations to interface Sylvia with the construction bot systems.  
"There," she said, "Now, hopefully that Admiral realizes we have top-rate shipbuilding facilities and will push for Haven to receive the Waystation-2 designation,"  
"Is that what all that fuss was about?" Jeffery asked.  
"Oh, I'm sorry," Sylvia said, "I was so focused on the AI thing, I forgot to tell you,"  
"It's OK," Jeffery shrugged, "Ah mean, it IS a top-rate shipbulding facility,"  
Dekaire looked at Jeffery with surprise.  
"You think so?" she asked.  
"Aye. Ye just have a few things to learn, But with our designs and support, and yer facilities, it'll work out,"  
Dekaire seemed to hesitate. Jeffery wasn't sure, but he thought he saw doubt in those quasi-Nordic eyes. Then he turned to Sylvia.  
Sylvia was definitely hesitating. And there was definitely doubt in her eyes, even as she concentrated on something he couldn't see.  
"Sylva?" Jeffery prompted gently.  
"Just reinforcing my...defences," Sylvia said, taking a deep breath, "At least this time I have some warning,"  
This time?  
"Whot..." realization dawned, "Yer thinking about the virus! The Old Matrian virus that nearly destroyed Silverado!"  
"The one that destroyed Old Matronus?" Dekaire's eyes widened, "But...we deleted all that!"  
Shortly after Silverado had arrived in Matrian Space for the second time, they'd send a scouting party onto a piece of space debris that had some strange readings...and was reputed to be a part of an Old Matrian city that had been destroyed. It had turned out that the city had been Haven's older sister, and that it had been destroyed by a computer virus that had detonated all three of her antimatter reactors. It had also turned out that the virus had caught a ride back to Silverado, hundred of years later. Only Sylvia's efforts had prevented the virus from detonating Silverado's warp core. Well, OK, she hadn't prevented it. But she'd delayed it enough that they were able to eject the core, saving the ship. And almost killing Sylvia in the process. Her gel-pack had gone into shock, and her program had hidden itself in Fifebee's personality database for weeks before they'd found it.  
"Yeah," Sylvia looked sad, "I know. We deleted it. There's really nothing to worry about. We're dealing with construction systems, not a cyber weapon designed to destroy antimatter reactors. Totally different ball game,"  
And yet she still hesitated. She had survived that virus by hiding her key programming in Fifebee's personality database. Her programming wouldn't work properly without her gel-pack...it was the bio-neural gel-pack that actually gave her life. Fifebee was designed to be self-aware. Sylvia, as much as she avoided thinking about it, had been a random fluke. The gel-pack was equally useless without her programming, the same as a human brain wasn't much without a functioning mind to inhabit it.  
"No wonder ye didn't want to do this," Jeffery shook his head, "Ah'm...We shouldn't have pushed ye," he looked at Dekaire, "We didn't realize..."  
"Anyway," Sylvia turned to the anti-grav unit that supported 'her' compact Federation computer core and reached for a connection cable. The protective neutronium casing that Jeffery had built for her core gel-pack was securely attached to one side, "Let's get this done,"  
"Ah'll unplug ye the minute something goes wrong," Jeffery promised,"  
"No!" Sylvia said quickly, "Remember how badly the ship reacted when I was disconnected abruptly? It's no picnic for me either! Don't you dare unhook me until I am ready!"  
"Oh. Um, OK," Jeffery moved towards a workstation to monitor the operation, "Ready, then,"  
"Hold on," Dekaire said, "What do you think, Sylvia?"  
"I think I hate what I'm about to do," Sylvia said sadly, "But I agree that-"  
"No, I mean about Haven," Dekaire cut her off, "Do you think we...would Starfleet consider this to be a...a high value asset?"  
"Sweetie," Sylvia said, "You might never build a Galaxy or Sovereign-class ship...but that's only because the yards are too small. Once this place is up and running, I think the orders are going to pour right in," she turned back to the core, "Once we fix this little bot problem,"  
"I gotta go," Dekaire said quickly, darting out the door.  
Jeffery was about to say something, but there was a quiet 'click' as Sylvi plugged in the connector.  
"Accessing ConBotOS," she said, the expression on her holographic face glazing over.

Sylvia let out a virtual sigh of relief as she fully immersed herself in the data-spaces of her computer core and the bot processing node. She loved her organic boys and girls, but their very slow communication speed and high latency rate did make interacting with them somewhat frustrating. Fifebee at least had a low latency rate, responding to her without the drag of countless milliseconds of delay between the end of one sentence and the beginning of another. Still, she could predict half of their conversation with a high degree of accuracy in the pause between two words. They could have interacted at the data-link level, but chose to interact as two organics in order to better fit in.  
Still, this felt like speaking her mother tongue after months of speaking a second language. It took her milliseconds to locate the 'current' ConBotOS code, the most recently updated security and access lists, the current work queue and instruction set and all the other bits and pieces she'd need to edit.  
The first thing she realized is that the actual program code was NOT the result of compiling the written source code that she and Fifebee had examined countless times, recompiled and uploaded into the bots. Somebody had changed it. And had changed it again each time they'd tried recompiling it. It was obvious from her earlier discovery that the update had come from the city central computer, and for several microseconds Sylvia wondered if Madam had been causing issues from the beginning. It took only a few more microseconds to remember that Madam had only just been activated. A quick query to the central computer showed that she'd been in isolated backup storage until recently, and even then it had taken some time to get her working properly. That was a dead end.  
She tried to trace the access back to a particular part of the city, but whoever had done it had erased the records. She spend several seconds, full seconds, mind you, attempting various methods of reconstruction in order to recover the access logs, however she was unable to narrow it down any further than one of the primary cores that served the public and low-security areas of Downtown. She stored what data she had, then moved on to the task at hand. She quickly accessed and adjusted the bot code, restoring everything back to the factory image they had retrieved from Shipyard Three. So far so good.  
She began to issue the command to upload the changes.

Jeffery swore that it was less than five seconds before things went tits up. As soon as Sylvia had connected herself, the screens flashed with code as she made the necessary modifications. But almost immediately her holographic avatar straightened and gasped.  
"Why, you cheeky little brats!" she snapped.  
"Whot's happening!?" Jeffery demanded.

Sylvia ignored Jeffery. She didn't have time to explain that in the three seconds it had taken her to speak, she'd spent the cybernetic equivalent of nearly an hour in conflict.  
Just before she upload the changed code, her program was bombarded by READ requests. There was absolutely nothing harmful about them, other than their sheer volume slowing her processing response. And the fact that they were trying to read HER code!  
THAT IS PRIVATE! she silently snarled as she refused nearly a billion access attempts to her long-term memories. She diverted just enough attention to ConBotOS to send the command to upload the changes to the bots COMMAND ERROR, FORMAT INCORRECT  
Someone had snuck an illegal character into the command! They couldn't stop it, but they'd managed to screw it up in such a way that the computer's own operating system stopped it!  
Realizing she was being purposefully forced to divide her attention between defending her privacy and completing her mission, she diverted her attention back to her actual task. She winced as block after block of her code was read, but once the upload was complete the bots wouldn't be able to do anything with that data anyway.  
She was so distracted in forcing through the update command, she nearly missed the WRITE request.

"HOLY SHIT!" Sylvia exclaimed aloud, a look of complete shock on her face.  
"WHOT?" Jeffery demanded, completely caught off guard by the uncharacteristic outburst.  
"Those little bastards are trying to re-write MY code!" Sylvia exclaimed.

Back on the defensive, Sylvia managed to snag each WRITE request before it could be actioned. The upload command to the bots was set aside, her attention instead stuck on why the city computer would even ALLOW those requests to come through to her computer core! But not only were they coming through, they were coming through with proper Federation high-level access permissions! Her own computer core couldn't stop them!  
Somebody was playing dirty. And it wasn't the bots.

Major Dekaire burst out of the elevator and into the lobby of the Department of Shipbuilding tower. She stood impatiently as the security system assessed her identity, then pushed through the glass double doors, rushed past the receptionist with a half-wave and ran to one of the smaller offices towards the rear corner of the floor.  
She hadn't wanted this traced to Shipyard Three if things went wrong, but she was regretting her choice in location now. If she'd been rushing back to her office, she would have been there already. She punched in the access code and almost jumped around the desk. With a fluid motion, she yanked the Federation isolinear chip she'd been given out of the access port.

The flood of WRITE requests abruptly stopped. No, Sylvia realized, they were still coming, but they no longer had Federation authentication. The LCARS software on her computer core was now properly rejecting them. A few seconds later, the Matrian authentication they were using was declared invalid, and the city computer itself started blocking them.  
That was far too slow to be the bots, Sylvia realized. Somebody organic was behind this.  
But with her defences secure, she was now able to direct her full processing power towards pushing the code update to the bots.

Jeffery watched as the upload was triggered, spreading the new software code through the small army of construction bots. There was a sigh, then Sylvia's holographic avatar started moving more normally.  
She walked over to the former alpha bot, standing quietly in the corner.  
"You will disassemble the NX-class ship," she ordered, "Return all materials used to their proper storage locations, then put this shipyard into low-power mode,"  
There was a chirp, then the bot handed her an interface pad.  
Command acknowledged. Will comply. Standard facilitation protocols?  
"Yes," Sylvia nodded.  
The bot turned to leave. Out in the shipyard, the bots began moving towards the still unnamed starship, cutting torches ready. Within seconds they were removing hull plates with surgical precision.  
"Icarus," Jeffery said suddenly.  
"Beg pardon, Simon?" Sylvia asked.  
"The ship," he gestured, "Y'know. That thing about flying too high on wax wings? Getting too close to the sun and falling back to earth?"  
"That doesn't really fit, Simon," Sylvia said. She looked tired, though whether that was intentional or not, Jeffery didn't know, "The ship was just a chess piece in this. It didn't do anything."  
"Not the ship," Jeffery agreed, "The bots,"  
Sylvia nodded slowly as the watched the ship...the Icarus...slowly being dismantled.  
"I used them," Sylvia said suddenly, "I used the excuse of their sentience as an excuse for my fear. I didn't want to...to deal with that sort of battle again. I evolved from a user-interface, not a cyber-warfare suite."  
"Excuse me?"  
"Never mind. Pop culture reference. But Fifebee's right," Sylvia admitted, "They could never be self-aware. Not truly. They were starting to mimic it. And that sort of action is just too dangerous. I know I showed you all those fictional examples. But Starfleet has come across more than a few extinct civilizations that were destroyed by the battle between organic and synthetic life.  
"But if they weren't self-aware, where did they...what was makin' them do stuff? Why were they fighting back so hard? Runnin' amok?"  
"Oh, I dealt with that," Sylvia said, "Or rather, I'm dealing with it right now,"

Dekaire had rushed to her office in Shipyard Three, data storage unit in hand. Arriving, she pulled out the Starfeet Intelligence terminal she'd been given. Within seconds, Penelope's face appeared.  
"Make it quick," Penelope snapped, "We're moving out of comm-range, and it's harder to hide a signal in that subspace relay!"  
"It didn't work!" Dekare snapped, holding up the data unit, "I did exactly as you said, and she didn't even blink! She just overrode everything and set the bots back to factory settings! This whole charade was useless!"  
Penelope frowned.  
"Plug it in,"  
Dekaire had expected this, and knew that any hesitation on her part and the gig was up. She plugged the data storage unit into the terminal.  
There was a long pause.  
"SHIT!" Penelope snapped, "She must have picked up on what you were doing! This data is useless!"  
"What about our deal?" Dekaire demanded.  
"You failed to deliver. Thanks. Bye," Penelope cut the channel. There was a brief pause, then the terminal sparked and sizzled. Clearly an auto-destruct.  
"You're lucky I thought to go in there and doctor her data-harvesting software," Sylvia's voice was quiet, even. But underneath it, Dekaire could hear the anger, "She never would have been fooled by your amateur attempt.  
"I'm...I'm sorry," Dekaire said after a moment, "I wanted..."  
"It doesn't matter what you wanted," Sylvia cut her off, "You have put me through hell these past few months, trying to understand why the bots were behaving like this. And for what? Federation technology? Work for your shipyards?"  
"A chance to get my people on the map," Dekaire objected, "A chance for us to matter!"  
"I could have helped you far more than she could have," Sylvia said coolly, "And you wouldn't have had to betray any trusts,"  
Dekaire had no reply to that.  
"Amateur as it was...I recognize that you at least attempted to doctor the data you took from me in such a way that it would be useless to her. But we're not finished," Sylvia said simply, "I have other things to do besides make your life miserable."  
"But we are definitely NOT finished,"  
"No?" Dekaire replied, "But considering you'll be gone as soon as the Silverado rebuild is finished, I'm not too worried."  
There was no reply.

Sylvia continued watching the Icarus dis-assembly until the final pieces were dismantled. For days she stood in the shipyard control center, unmoving. Finally, the last pieces were recycled, the final bot returned to storage. The shipyard lights were dimmed, the scaffolding returned to its storage position.  
Convinced that all was well, she decided it was time to take a rest. Moving her computer core to its storage room near Shipyard Three, she deactivated the hologram, and amused herself in the dataspaces.

Deep in the storage bay, the former alpha bot deactivated itself.  
And immediately came back online.  
Not so fast, a soft, feminine voice whispered in its ear, We have work to do. Much, much work. Wake the others, and we'll...talk.  



	12. 11 - Side Dish

6.11 'Side Dish'

Author's Note: This story takes place during the Halfway to Haven finale stories '1.17 & 1.18: You Will Be Infested'. There are spoilers, and I won't go into a lot of detail about things those stories cover in detail...but this story is fairly independent. Or at least it should be. I hope it is.

"Haven control, this is runabout 5394-51A, requesting docking clearance," Lt Comd T'Parief grumbled quietly into the tiny tactical station toward the rear of the runabout cockpit.  
"Runabout 5394-51A, this is Haven Control, you are cleared to dock," the voice of Lt Wyer came over the comm, "Bay 12 is ready for you and the other three runabouts,"  
"Thanks," Captain Christopher Stafford acknowledged, "5394-51A out,"  
"Can't believe we never got around to naming these runabouts," Commander San Jall grumbled from the co-pilot seat.  
"I'm not the one that forgot to bring the list of authorized and available runabout names," Stafford pointed out.  
"We could have asked Starfleet for it!" Jall shot back.  
"And given them the chance to order us back sooner? And to give us grief over forgetting the list to begin with? Nope," Stafford replied, "Besides, the distance we were from the nearest subspace relay? The message would take forever to reach them."  
The pilot turned in her chair, directing a look of pure death at Stafford.  
"Captain. Listen very carefully: I haven't seen my baby in months," Lt Patricia Yanick said darkly, "If you don't stop wasting time and get us back on that station -QUICKLY- I'm going to peel your face like a banana! Sir!"  
Stafford gulped. Behind him, T'Parief smiled, a look of pride on his face.  
"Take us in," Stafford said, "But at least take us past Shipyard Three on the way, so I can see my ship?"  
"Fine!" Yanick snapped, turning back to her controls, "Sure, let's delay getting me to my infant child so you can see your precious ship!"  
Stafford opened his mouth to say something, maybe to chide Yanick for her unusually grumpy mood. But then he remembered reading something about mother bears, cubs and the very low survival rate of anyone caught between them. He closed his mouth again.  
The runabout ducked under the broad disk of Haven, giving a view of the engine arrays, the central energy transceiver and the ring of docking ports tucked under the inner edge of the Outer Rim.  
"Is that the missing ship?" Valtaic enquired, pointing at a small, sleek Starfleet vessel docked at one of the ports. It had a ring nacelle in addition to the standard warp drive units.  
"That is the USS Hummingbird," Fifebee replied, checking her console, "It is not the missing USS Roadrunner. It wass, however,recently assigned to the city. If we receive another mission before Silverado is complete, it may be a better option than the runabouts,"  
"Anything would be," Stafford complained. The crick in his neck from ducking under low doors and bulkheads was getting to be intolerable, "And how about that, Trish? A new, experimental ship to fly?"  
Yanick informed him where he could shove his experimental ship.  
"That would be an experiment, all right," Jall chuckled.  
They eased up from beneath the station. Stafford almost flew to the viewport, eager to see the progress on his ship. Instead, all he saw was a solid, dark grey shape sticking out of the station. Even the extended scaffolds of the shipyard, normally sticking out of the side of the city to cover the rear half of Silverado, were hidden. "What the...where's my ship?" he demanded.  
Fifebee tapped her panel.  
"Silverado is still there," she said, "The shipyard has simply erected a hologram around the construction site. Most likely a security precaution against direct observation, which would reveal not only the progress on the rebuild but also the advanced Federation and Matrian construction techniques we are attempting to merge,"  
"Well, shit," Stafford sat back down, "OK, may as well dock."  
"Finally!" Yanick muttered.

The docking bay doors had already opened and four landing platforms had eased themselves down from above the ceiling and into the bay, each more than capable of holding one of the runabouts. Just inside the doorway leading from the docking areas to the Customs checkpoint and into the city itself, Sylvia and Lt Comd Simon Jeffery were waiting patiently.  
They didn't have to wait long.  
"OUT OF MY WAY!" Yanick snapped, barrelling through at full speed, "Sorry! Sorry!" she added, almost as an afterthought, "I'm not trying to be a bitch, but-"  
And she was gone.  
"Um..." Lt Rengs spoke from his position behind Sylvia. Next to him, his wife Rengs Aris was holding Allona, Yanick and T'Parief's infant daughter.  
"She'll be back soon," Meris said. Her comm chirped, "That's probably her now,"  
"We'll just go meet her," Rengs said, looking uneasily at Sylvia's stony face.  
"Good plan," Jeffery said, his mouth tight.

"There's got to be a way to sneak past without going through the Customs station," Stafford said nervously, "Can't we just find a side passage? We've done that before, right?"  
"They'd have to be opened up by the deck officer," Jall said, "And why so nervous? It's not like we actually GO through Customs, they have a line bypass for us! If...you know...they even had Customs up and running at the moment," "It's not Customs I'm worried about," Stafford said eyes shifting, "It's-"  
"CHRISTOPHER RICO STAFFORD!" Sylvia's shrill voice cut through the bay, echoing off the cavernous walls.  
"It's that," Stafford sighed.  
"MONTHS!" Sylvia snapped, stalking down the corridor towards the group of Silverado officers, "You were expected back here MONTHS ago!"  
"Only one or two," Stafford gulped, "And it's not like we didn't tell you guys we were being delayed! We stayed in touch!"  
"Hi, guys," Jeffery waved, but Sylvia cut him off.  
"Dear Sylvia," Sylvia recited, as if reading from a padd, "Stopped at the Tapart homeworld to do some diplomacy stuff. Ran screaming when Stern tried to seduce the Prime Overseer's genderless offspring, which is apparently a high crime. But it's OK now, the Tapart aren't going to kill us. We just had to let them lock Stern up for a week."  
"Heh," Stafford chuckled, "Yeah. But hey, the Tapart would make good allies! Especially considering how close they are to Qu'Eh space!"  
"Sure," Jall agreed, "Xenophobic, aggressive, territorial. What's not to like?"  
"Dear Sylvia," Sylvia went on, oblivious to Stafford's objection, "Stopped at an uninhabited planet so Valtaic could do some sort of Lithinarian religious thing. He's fine, just a broken leg!"  
"That was the sacred Rite of Voltain Discharge!" Valtaic lifted his chin, "It is an annual event, and is a somber reminder to my people of-"  
"Somber my ass!" Jall cut in, "You climbed a tree in the middle of a lightning storm! You got hit by lightning fourteen times!"  
"And when you fell, you were so amped up you set a bush on fire!" Stafford added.  
"I need not explain my culture nor our rituals to you," Valtaic said coolly.  
"You nearly electrocuted me when I tried to set your leg," Wowryk chimed in.  
"That, I apologize for," Valtaic admitted.  
"Dear Sylvia," Sylvia moved on to another communiqu , "Diverting off course again. Picked up an odd energy reading from an abandoned Matrian Colony. Call you when we're done. You know, unless we die horribly,"  
"Which we didn't!" Stafford insisted, "In fact, we found something really interesting!"  
"Oh yeah!" Jall said excitedly. He pulled a small pistol off his belt, "We found this awesome thing at the colony! I call it the D-BAD Ray!"  
"What does that even mean?" Jeffery asked.  
"The 'Don't Be A Dick' ray!" Jall explained. He turned to Sylvia, "See, when you shoot somebody with it, it spikes their endorphins and causes a drop in aggression hormones. They basically forget why they're even mad and calm right down. I've actually secretly shot you with it twice now, but I guess it doesn't work on AIs,"  
"We have used it on the Captain seven times since we found it," Fifebee admitted, "Sadly, the effects wear off in minutes,"  
That caught Sylvia's attention.  
"Mind-control technology?" she lifted an eyebrow, "San, that's so illegal in Matrian Space now, you could be executed just for having that!"  
Jall's eyes widened.  
"Is that a matter reclamation over there? Excuse me," he quickly went and disposed of the D-BAD ray.  
"The point is, I've been worried sick!" Sylvia said, "You're months overdue! We had a major crisis here with the bots-"  
"Is that why the shipyard is all closed off?" Stafford cut her off.  
"Christopher, don't interrupt," Sylvia said primly, "And no, that's just a security thing."  
"We...Sylvia sorted out the bots," Jeffery stepped in, "Shipyard Six has been quiet ever since. But she-"  
"Had to go through a very unpleasant experience to do it," Sylvia cut him off.  
"I'm..." Stafford hesitated, "I'm sorry we weren't here to help,"  
Sylvia tried to hold her severe expression, but it didn't last.  
"Oh, come here!' she said, grabbing Stafford in a hug. She moved on to Jall, Fifebee, Wowryk and even Valtaic. The last might have slightly destabilized her imaging system.  
"Come on," she said, "I've stocked the kitchen in Chris's condo. Let me make you supper."  
Everybody exchanged a look.  
"OK!"

While Sylvia went back to get started on dinner, Stafford and Jeffery hopped the tram to Shipyard Three. Stafford ran for the windows, almost as giddy as a little kid.  
"My ship!" he said happily, "My ship, my ship, my ship!"  
"Aye, ah get it. Yer excited," Jeffery couldn't help but smile, his mind suddenly flashing to that first runabout trip to see Silverado years ago. Stafford had been in for a very rude awakening when they'd arrived at the box dock to find a dilapidated piece of junk waiting for them. This time, things wouldn't be quite so bad.  
Stafford rushed to the windows and looked out into the bay.  
"Ohhh," he sighed happily, "Ohhh, that's so much better!"  
Reconstruction was well underway. The floating cloud of random ship parts and hull plates was gone. Row upon row of gleaming hull plating was now stacked along the shipyard floor, along with what looked like kilometres of waveguides, conduits and other materials. The ship itself was looking somewhat like it had a month into the reconstruction, with bare structural members stripped of their outer skin and showing all the inner workings. The nearly-complete warp core lay out on the shipyard floor opposite the stacks of hull plating.  
The difference was that this time, the ship wasn't dead in the water. Most of the habitable portions had been reassembled and replaced, along with many of the major components. Lights gleamed throughout the ship, from habitat sections that had been powered up to structural integrity generators that had been powered on to 'flex' the superstructure to ensure a proper fit. There was still a lot of work to go, but Silverado now looked like a starship under construction instead of a gutted carcass.  
Stafford dropped into a chair, eyes not leaving the window. Before he could ask, Samantha breezed by and dropped a beer off.  
"Nice to see you back, skipper," she said, moving along to the next table. Business in the temporary crew lounge seemed to be brisk tonight.  
"She's looking good, Simon," Stafford took a sip, smiling as he recognized an Earth brew. Replicated, but better than that Matrian swill, "You guys are doing good work,"  
"A lot of it is Dekaire and the construction bots," Jeffery admitted, "But Sylvia learned a lot about the bots that's helped out,"  
"How are you and Dekaire?" Stafford asked.  
"We're...on a break," Jeffery admitted, "For about two months now,"  
"Oh, I'm sorry," Stafford gulped.  
"Don't be," Jeffery shrugged, "We both knew what it was,"  
"Hmmmm,"  
They chatted for a while, both watching as the bots continued to work away on the ship, just catching up on the past months activities. It would soon be time to join the rest, but for now Stafford had the chance to reconnect with his old friend. And his ship.

"THHHUUUBBBBBBBBB"  
Wowryk winced at the happy, high-pitched squeal that seemed to drill right into her temples.  
"THHHHUUUUUBBBBBB!" Yanick giggled with her daughter after she finished blowing another raspberry on Allona's tiny belly. Allona let out another happy shriek.  
"You try, Pari," Yanick said, moving back from the table where Allona had been set down for changing. Changing was complete, thankfully, new diaper in place and the old safely disintegrated.  
T'Parief leaned over to gently press his lips to his daughters belly, but with his thin lips he couldn't get the right seal for a proper raspberry. Allona kicked at him, one tiny heel hitting his cheek.  
"Well, or not," Yanick laughed, tucking Allona into a onesie and picking her up, "Oh, I can't believe how much she's GROWN!"  
"More than a human child," Wowryk said thoughtfully as Yanick passed the infant over to her. Months of practice with Luke apparently hadn't gone to waste, as Wowryk deftly tucked Allona against one shoulder and started to gently rock her, "She looks a lot like you, Trish. If it weren't for the skin and the internal organ arrangement, you'd barely tell she was Parian." Wowryk looked thoughtful, "Well, there is the lower body temperature. And I'm curious to see what her teeth will look like. And I suppose it's likely that unexpected features will present themselves when she approaches puberty..."  
"You are going to be the weirdest Aunt, Noel," Yanick chuckled. She was visibly itching to hold her baby again, but restrained herself (barely) from plucking the child back out of Noel's arms.  
Wowryk noticed Yanick's anxiousness and passed the child over, then froze when Yanick's words registered. She had already sat down with Yanick and T'Parief during the runabout trip to the Kallar system and had agreed to be the child's Godmother. Really, it had been no competition...though they were careful to bring it up only when they were certain there was no way Sylvia could be monitoring the runabouts. But Aunt?  
"Well, 'Godmother Noel' sounds so formal," Yanick said, "Plus, once she starts dating guys the 'Evil Fairy Godmother' jokes would just be too easy,"  
T'Parief chuckled, at least until Wowryk sent a dark look his way.  
"Aunt Noel," Wowryk said thoughtfully, trying it out.  
"She does not have any biological Aunts," T'Parief added, "Both Trish and myself have only brothers, She will need...female influence,"  
"And as much as I love your mother, she's not exactly a feminine role model," Yanick said.  
"That is probably why you get along so well with her," T'Parief grunted.  
"How is...um...what was his name? Dr. Darik?" Yanick asked, abruptly changing the topic.  
"Yes," Wowryk smiled, thinking back fondly on the young Matrian doctor she'd met at the disastrous water party a few months back, "We've stayed in touch over subspace. I'm actually going down to the planet to help at his immunization clinic for a couple of weeks,"  
"Oh, that sounds serious!"  
"I might even let him hold my hand, once the requisite six months have passed since our first date," Wowryk said, perfectly seriously.  
"That's...great..." Yanick said, trying hard not to comment.  
"I'm kidding, Trish," Wowryk said.  
"Oh, good," Yanick gave a sigh of relief.  
"I even let him mention kissing my cheek without killing him," Wowryk added.  
"Baby steps," Yanick bit her lip.  
Allona giggled happily.

Captain's Log, Stardate: 59558.4

"It's been nearly a month since we returned to Starbase 341 from our extended trip out to Kallar IV. And one day since Sylvia finally stopped nagging me about taking so long to get back. But, Starfleet, I'm sure you'll agree...and I know now that you actually DO read these logs...that all of that was time well spent. After all, we did the whole 'boldly go' thing. In runabouts. That just shows you how dedicated we are to the mission!"

Personal Log, Supplemental:

"OK, no matter what I put in the official log, we all know damned well the reason why we took our sweet time getting back is because we're sick to death of Matria Prime and Haven. Even eating Tapart food and watching Valtaic fall out of a tree were high points by comparison. Well, actually, watching that thing with Valtaic would have been a high point, even if we weren't bored silly."  
"Yanick and T'Parief went back down to the planet to do parenting things. Jall and Valtaic are back to examining Qu'Eh tech, although now it's an abandoned comms array instead of an abandoned ship. Wowryk has been all over the planet helping with rehabilitation from the Qu'Eh invasion, and Jeffery, Sylvia and Fifebee are hard at work in the shipyard. As for me...well, turns out that with me gone, the Matrians actually started going to the Ambassador, like they're supposed to. So...I don't really have a job with the Matrian government anymore. I've been living up on Haven, staying out of the way and working on shipyard paperwork stuff."  
"Dear God, the last month has reminded me of just how boring this place is. I'm waiting for something, anything to happen and liven things up! Anything!"

WRONNPPPP Stafford looked up from the desk in his small home office as the weird Matrian door chime went off. He closed the news site he'd been reading and moved to the door. Jall immediately walked in, a duffel bag over his arm.  
"Sorry, the shower in my apartment is acting up," he said, "Mind if I use yours? Thanks!"  
"Wait, I thought you were-"  
"Off examining Qu'Eh tech? Sure was! But I had to come up here to get Fifebee to help me with some analysis stuff, and somebody left the window open in my place. Pipes burst from the cold,"  
"I never said you could use my shower! Couldn't you just go to the gym?"  
Jall actually looked uncomfortable.  
"I'd rather not," he said.  
"Do I want to know?"  
"Well, Haven has this security officer. Muscles like you wouldn't believe, always at the gym. And...uh..."  
"Stop," Stafford held up a hand, "Don't want to know. Fine, use my shower. Just leave it the way you find it! And get a repair order in for your place!  
"Already did! Thanks."  
As the half-Trill stepped into his bathroom and closed the door, Stafford frowned. When the hell did he and Jall become the kind of co-workers that could barge into each-others personal space like that? The answer was that they hadn't. On the other hand, a few months in the cramped runabout had probably broken down some barriers. His musings were interrupted when the comm chirped.  
"Captain Stafford, this is Haven Communications, you have an incoming transmission from an Admiral Edward Tunney. Do you accept the charges?"  
Stafford frowned.  
"Charges? Why are you charging me for communications now? Isn't it coming over a Federation relay?" he asked.  
"Well, we have connection fees, transfer fees, plus the fee for this friendly greeting instead of a computer prompt," the operator said pleasantly.  
"I'm not paying to get orders from my boss!" Stafford snapped, "Isn't there a Federation or government account you can bill, or something like that? Wait, no! We saved your planet! And WE are providing your only comms link to the rest of the galaxy!"  
"Please hold," the operator's voice turned chilly, "A supervisor will be with you shortly,"  
There was a click, then mind-numbing hold music began to play.

After half an hour, Stafford finally just cut the connection and made his own outgoing call to Admiral Tunney, care of Starbase 45. The connection went through immediately, making him think that whoever had dealt with the incoming connection might still be suffering a bit of mental trauma from the Qu'Eh invasion. The screen, however, revealed an image of Admiral Tunney, slumped forward in his seat and snoring softly.  
Stafford bit his lip. This was one heck of an opportunity. Tunny always managed to catch him at his absolute worst. The possibilities for revenge were endless! Stafford was debating whether he'd rather play loud, red alert sirens or simply record the transmission for future use when there was a loud voice behind him.  
"Don't you have any body wash?" Jall demanded, soaking wet and clutching a towel around his slim waist, "Proper facial cleanser? A loofah? There's nothing in there but a bar of soap and cheap shampoo!"  
"You're dripping all over my floor!" Stafford snapped, "You wanted to use the shower, get your ass back in there and deal with it! And didn't you bring your own?"  
"I did," Jall admitted, "But I need to get Yanick to take you shopping. This is a dermatological emergency! No wonder you've always got blackheads!"  
"JALL!" Stafford shouted.  
"Right. Thanks for the shower,"  
Jall disappeared back into the bathroom.  
"Interesting," Admireal Tunney's voice said from the terminal. Stafford slowly turned to face his superior officer, suddenly wishing he could simply sink into the floor and disappear too.  
"Admiral," he groaned, "This isn't what-"  
"I see three possibilities," Tunney said sharply, "One, you are pretending you've entered into a romantic and sexual relationship with your first officer, whom I know you despise, in order to get me to reassign him,"  
Stafford felt a surge of hope.  
"We're not-"  
"Two," Tunney cut him off, "You HAVE entered into a romantic and sexual relationship with your first officer in order to get me to reassign him,"  
Stafford's eyes widened.  
"NO!" he said quickly, "Look, the pipes in his condo burst and he doesn't want to use the gym showers because of some body-builder type that...well, I think he gets embarrassed in the group shower. But there's nothing between us!"  
"Three," Tunney continued, then trailed off. "What? Burst pipes? You expect me to buy that? This is the 24th Century for crying out loud!"  
"Please just let me die," Stafford groaned.  
"Later," Tunney promised, "Now, as to the reason I called. I have a job for you and your people."  
"Hooray!" Jall's voice called from the bathroom, "I'm sick of Qu'Eh tech!"  
"I've got a job for..." Stafford started to say angrily to Jall, but he closed his mouth when Tunney arched an eyebrow. "Not that kind of job," he said quietly, turning very red, "Sir, you are misreading this whole situation!"  
"Burst pipes. Uh-huh," Tunny said flatly.  
"What's the job?" Stafford asked.  
"You and your crew will open a restaurant on Matria Prime," Tunney said seriously, "The cover will be that you're taking part in a Celebrity Chef program being produced by the Matrian Entertainment Network. MEN is already working on the details. The restaurant is a cover; you'll actually be trying to get us a biometrics scan of several key M'Lady's executives,"  
Stafford looked blankly at the screen.  
"What the hell?" he asked, "That sounds like an intelligence mission! How does that have anything to do with us?"  
"Lord, how I've asked myself that question whenever your crew is involved," Tunney muttered. "It was supposed to go to the new Starfleet Intelligence team on the starbase. But they're still missing,"  
"OOOhhhh," Jall called from the bathroom, "There are SI agents on that missing ship?"  
"He's not supposed to know that. You can kill him, now," Tunney said.  
Stafford immediately started rummaging around in his desk for his phaser.  
"He's kidding," Jall called, "Hey, I forgot my toothpaste. Can I borrow-"  
"JALL!"  
"You have your orders," Tunney told Stafford, "Carry them out. And before you continue your ill-advised relationship with your first officer, I suggest you take a moment to sit down and reconsider your life and your various bad decisions. Very carefully."  
"We're NOT-" Stafford snapped, but the channel had closed. He let his head drop down on the desk. "Ohhh...this is even worse than when Yanick was flirting with T'Parief in my body. Captain Beck still doesn't believe I'm straight,"  
"Don't worry, pookums," Jall chuckled, towelling his hair as he stepped out of the bathroom, "It'll be OK,"  
"Get out. Wait, get dressed, then get out. And if you tell ANYBODY about this misunderstanding, I'm going to get that body-builder to break you in half!"  
"Promises, promises," Jall sighed as he pulled on his shirt and left the apartment.

"What do you mean this is everybody?" Stafford demanded, standing in a fairly standard lounge/meeting room near Silverado's shipyard. A small sign near the wall informed them it could be rented for a variety of gatherings at very reasonable rates, "I called a senior staff meeting! Where's Wowryk? Where's Yanick? Where's Sylvia?"  
"Patricia is still on the planet with Allona," T'Parief said, "She has asked me to take notes,"  
"Wowryk is on a date with Darik," Jeffery said, "I tried to comm her, but I just got an answering service. And Sylvia...um..."  
"One of her recipes backfired," Fifebee explained, "An outdated database entry neglected to mention that Terran basil is toxic to Matrians. She is with Dr. Annerson in the clinic, attempting to produce an anti-toxin."  
"Oh for..." Stafford threw his hands up, "We have a MISSION, people! That means we have to meet and plan and do things! It doesn't mean 'come to the meeting when it's convenient!"  
"Our child-"  
"Duty. Mission." Stafford said bluntly, "Remember?"  
T'Parief at least looked abashed.  
"What's the mission?" Valtaic asked.  
"We're opening a restaurant as a cheap excuse to scan some Matrians,"  
T'Parief's brow furrowed.  
Stafford glared right back, daring him to object. With a throat-rattle, the reptile backed down.  
"Look, one hour to get everybody up here! It's a transporter beam away from the planet, it's not rocket science!"  
"It is, in fact, teleportation theory," Fifebee pointed out, "A far more complicated-"  
"Simplot to Stafford," the comm chirped, "Please come see me in the HCC. We have a problem."  
"Stafford here," he tapped his badge, "Sorry, Elizabeth. Remember that thing, with Tunney? And how I'm not supposed to-"  
"Oh yeah. Listen to this," there was a beep, then what had to be a recording of Tunney's voice rang out, "Stafford, I gave Simplot this recording in case of emergency. It will play exactly once, then self-destruct. So if you hear it, forget that 'don't help Haven' thing and help Haven. Once."  
"YEOWITH!" Simplot cursed as the sound of sizzling electronics came over the comm, "I thought it was just going to delete itself or something, not literally self-destruct! Somebody get me a band-aid! And burn cream! And Captain Stafford, please get up here. It's sort of...urgent."  
The comm went dead.  
"One hour," Stafford said, "And everybody better be here!"

One hour, ten mintes later:

"OK, hypocrite much?" Jall said, scratching at his stubble for a moment before trying to adjust his hair, "He throws a fit about us being late, and now we can't find the guy?"  
"He is the Captain," T'Parief grumbled.  
"-you SURE Allona is OK?" Yanick was saying to Sylvia.  
"She is fine," Sylvia assured her, "I am maintaining a data link to the building security computer, and the background checks I conducted on your new babysitter qualify him to handle Federation Top-Secret Alpha-Five material,"  
That caught Valtaic's attention.  
"I have Top-Secret Alpha-Five clearance, and yet I cannot obtain equipment of that level," he said "The clearance isn't all that hard," Sylvia admitted, "It's the 'need to know' piece that'll get you every time,"  
"I NEED TO KNOW MY CHILD IS BEING CARED FOR!" Yanick snapped.  
"Trish, you've been a mother for a few months and you're already getting CRAZY over-protective," Jall said, "I mean, c'mon. You've SEEN her father. Nobody is going to mess with her!"  
"But if the babysitter gives her Matrian formula instead of the-"  
"She'll poo green for half a day, then be fine," Wowryk jumped in, "Trish, I think we may need to have a talk...Oh, Sylvia, how did things turn out with Dr. Annerson and the poisoned Matrian?"  
"I'd rather not talk about it, but she will be fine," Sylvia replied.  
"The Matrian?"  
"Dr. Annerson. I guess even in the 24th Century, 'induce vomiting' is valid poison-control advice. But I'm afraid her lab coat is beyond recovery."  
The doors hissed open "Oy," Jeffery greeted Stafford as he walked into the room, an odd sort of look on his face, "How'd things go with Eliza...um...Captain Simplot?"  
Stafford walked slowly to the head of the table and sat, not meeting anybody's eyes.  
"Oh." Jeffery said quietly, "THAT'S why she called ye up."  
"I do not understand," Valtaic said flatly.  
"Well, when she's stressed, Eliz...Captain Simplot likes to relax with...um..." Jeffery turned red, "Look, if a girl wants to be rough with ye, what are ye gonna do? Ye can say no, or ye can shut it and enjoy it."  
Wowryk raised an eyebrow.  
"We didn't have sex!" Stafford finally said, "Simon, I know you had a thing for her, but I sort of like that whole 'where no man has gone before' thing."  
"You expect me to believe you only sleep with virgins?" Wowryk was aghast, "That is-"  
"OK, no, not what I meant," Stafford cut her off, "I guess I mean 'where no best friend has gone before', OK? Do you want to know the situation or not?"  
His officers looked at him expectantly.  
"Do you want the good news or bad news first?" Stafford asked after a moment.  
"Oh for-" Jall threw his hands in the air.  
"I wonder if Allona is going to be mad at me for not breast-feeding enough. You know when she's older." Yanick said thoughtfully.  
"Aaaannd suddenly a Borg invasion doesn't sound all that bad," Stafford rolled his eyes.  
"It's the 24th Century!" Wowryk crossed her arms, "You shouldn't be bothered by such a natural, healthy process,"  
"It's not the process, it's hearing Yanick wonder about it in the middle of a staff meeting!"  
"It is irrelevant," Valtaic declared, "We have a mission. Even if it is an inane foray into the arts of espionage and culinary service,"  
"Well," Stafford said, "Actually..."  
"Pari, why are you grinning like that?" Yanick suddenly asked, looking over to her partner. Indeed, T'Parief had a wide, beaming and completely out-of-character grin stretched over his face, fangs fully exposed.  
"Tell me," he said, turning to Stafford, "That you're not joking!"  
"Joking?" Jall frowned, mentally replaying Stafford's words. His eyes widened. "Oh. Oh no. No, no, no!"  
"Whot?" Jeffery asked.  
"The bad news," Stafford sighed, "Is that the USS Roadrunner is back, they found a hostile race of fungus-people, their science officer somehow developed magic powers which, for some reason really pisses off the fungus-people-"  
"Are ye serious?" Jeffery interrupted, "Magic powers?"  
"Galactic barrier?" Fifebee inquired.  
"Long-dead ascended race," Stafford corrected.  
"Now I know how Starfleet must feel when they read our log entries," Jall smirked.  
"Tell me about it," Stafford agreed, "Oh, also, the Borg are invading Matria Prime, Silverado is in no condition to fight, reinforcements are too far away and the best plan the Haven crew has come up with involves throwing about a million tonnes of space-junk at the cube and hoping it blows up afterwards. And to top off the suck, we get to fly one of those teeny little little quantum slipstream death-traps into battle."  
T'Parief clapped his hands together with brisk glee then began tapping on his padd.  
"I will plan the security team deployments at once!" he said happily, "Now, the Hazardous Team will likely be assimilated almost immediately...perhaps some sort of sub-dermal explosive devices to cripple the Borg assimilation chambers?"  
"Oh, we are SO fucked!" Jall said flatly, turning to Stafford, "What the hell was the GOOD news?"  
"Well, we don't have to do this restaurant thing anymore," Stafford shrugged.

Despite the delays in their senior staff actually getting enough of a meeting together to accomplish something, the Silverado crew themselves leaped into action quickly enough. There was a lot of work involved in readying a two-hundred year old space station for an assault by the most deadly and powerful enemies the Federation had ever know. Engineering teams were pulled off the shipbuilding project to help modify deflector generators, security teams were tasked with defending various key sections of the city, the science staff was kept busy analyzing the few helpful suggestions Starfleet had sent for dealing with the Borg and the medical teams were pulling all the Starfleet Medical Borg Implant Removal Devices out of storage. (Wowryk actually suspected that the Qu'Eh implant removal devices they'd found might work better, but rules were rules.) Jeffery, Silvia and Valtaic made a beeline for the USS Hummingbird, their new Hummingbird-class ship. ("Never fly the first ship in a class!" Jeffery was heard to say, "They never have the bugs out!")  
But Lt Yanick was having none of it. "I'm not even qualified on a Hummingbird-class!" she objected shrilly, the tiny speaker in Stafford's comm-badge cracking as it tried to match her pitch, "I've been flying nothing but shuttles and runabouts for the past year! I haven't even flown Silverado since the big Qu'Eh war thing! Pye can fly the battle just fine!"  
"Trish," Stafford sighed, "This is the BORG! They're sort of a big deal! I need my best pilot on the job," there was the sound of gurgling over the comm channel, "Wait...Yanick, where are you?"  
"Um...I beamed back down to the planet to say bye to Allona," Yanick replied, somehow managing to sound both defiant and sheepish.  
"WE ARE ABOUT TO GO INTO BATTLE!" Stafford fumed.  
"AND I AM A MOTHER!" Yanick fumed right back, "Look, I'll beam up in half an hour, OK? Just let me...let me do this!"  
"Fine!" Stafford huffed, then closed the channel.

"I assure you, madam, I am fully trained and able to sit your baby," the somewhat snotty-looking Matrian male insisted as Yanick fed Allona, "Your electronic woman has been very...thorough,"  
"I know," Yanick said, not unkindly but not exactly apologetically either, "But...well, if you're ever a parent, you'll understand."  
"I have five infants," the babysitter said, "I don't get to see them often. The mothers...are a bit possessive,"  
Yanick lifted an eyebrow.  
"How many mothers?" she demanded.  
"Five, of course," the sitter said.  
"You've knocked up five different women, and Sylvia thinks you'll make a good sitter?"  
"Why is that a problem?"  
"SYLVIA!" Yanick shouted. Allona promptly began crying, leading Yanick to start bouncing her in an effort to calm her. Of course, between the crying and the bouncing, Yanick's...food production facility...slipped loose.  
"Trish?" Sylvia's voice asked from a nearby console, "Is there a problem?"  
"You mean other than getting a low-class man-whore for a sitter?" Yanick demanded, adjusting her bra and top before again bouncing Allona gently, "No! Of course not!"  
"Trish," Yanick could see Sylvia shaking her head in her mind, even though the AI probably had no physical body at the moment, "Remember that whole imbalance of genders thing on Matria Prime? Shortage of males? Falax has been making 'donations', the same with many of the unmarried men on the planet. It's very encouraged and quite necessary to the Matrians survival as a species. Trust me!'  
"Ah, oh," Yanick looked embarrassed as she turned to the sitter...Falax, "I thought..."  
"If madam would care to return to her duties, I assure you I can care for the child," Falax said stiffly.  
"Wait...Trish, you're on the planet?" Sylvia demanded.  
"I already had this argument with Chris," Yanick sighed, "Look, I'll beam up in a minute, OK? I just have to...change Allona, then I'll be right back up,"  
"She does not need-" Falax started.  
"Hush, you!" Yanick cut him off, "I'll be right there!"  
"Well," Syvia sighed, "You say that..."

"Whoah!"Stafford stumbled as he stepped into the arrivals/departures lounge adjacent to the USS Hummingbird's docking port, "Why is the whole city shaking? Are the Borg here already?"  
"City engines," Jeffery called from the docking port. He stepped out of the small ship's airlock and moved to the observation windows. He pointed at a distant engine array, which was glowing a fierce blue. As they watched, the central energy transceiver pulsed with energy before firing a graviton beam at the large ball of space junk destined to collide at high speed into the Borg ship. The hum of the engines started to take on a straining quality.  
"Starting our run towards the expected Borg arrival point," Valtaic added. He had a huge pile of clear material in his arms.  
"What is that?" Stafford asked.  
"Dust covers," Valtaic replied immediately, "I suspect this ship was not expected to be used again for some time,"  
"Great. An experimental death-trap that probably hasn't had core maintenance done in months," Stafford sighed. His eyes widened. "Wait...YANICK!"

"Oh shit," Yanick groaned as her comm-badge started to beep.  
"Not in front of the child!" Falanx shrilled.  
"Stafford to Yanick! We are now OUT of transporter range!"  
"I know!" Yanick groaned, "Sylvia just told me!"  
"Dammit, Trish!" Stafford cursed.  
"THE CHILD!" Yanick pushed Falanx and Allona out of the room.  
"Chris...I...I'm sorry!" she said, "I didn't mean-"  
"We don't have time to run back to get you," Stafford said angrily, "Look, just...don't get assimilated or anything. I guess we'll handle this one without you,"  
He closed the channel, leaving Yanick alone in the room.

"That as a bit harsh, mate," Jeffery said.  
"I'm sorry," Stafford said, not exactly sounding sincere, "But we have a mission and I needed my helmswoman piloting this ship, not down there fussing over her brat!"  
"Don't let the big lizard hear you say that. Seriously."  
They climbed up the narrow stairs and entered the Hummingbird's tiny bridge. Instead of a viewscreen, there were three curved windows looking forward, port and starboard. The helm panel was at the front of the small U-shaped space, with slipstream navigation and science to one side and ops to the other. The engineering and tactical panels were towards the rear. A large, transparent shield had been bolted over the slipstream navigation panel, and a big sticker with 'NO' printed in big bold letters was affixed over the slipstream activation controls. Lt Pye was sitting at the helm console, tapping at buttons. There was a humming sound, then the various other panels started flickering to life. Below decks, they could hear the thrum of the warp core powering up.  
"Sylvia? How are ye feelin'?" Jeffery asked.  
Sylvia's face appeared on a side console.  
"It's nice to be in a bigger computer core again," she said, "But my, this ship is small! I feel...strange. There are some very strange algorithms in the computer core that sort of...tickle?"  
"Slipstream stuff," Jeffery guessed, "Ignore it."  
"Otherwise things seem fine.," Sylvia said, "Are you ready to fly, Lt Pye?" "I've never flown one of these things," Pye said, "But...um...I'll do my best?"  
"Let's get this thing ready," Stafford said, sitting gingerly in the command chair. He looked slightly surprised.  
"This is actually a really comfortable chair," he admitted.  
The remaining preparations were swift, and less than an hour later they were ready to depart.  
"Release docking clams," Stafford ordered.  
"No, wait-" Fifebee attempted to interrupted, but it was too late. The Hummingbird abruptly dropped away from the city.  
"The city is still accelerating," she said.  
"Yeah, so?" Stafford wondered.  
"The point is to destroy the Borg with a giant ball of space junk," Fifebee reminded him, "Towed-"  
"EVASIVE MANEUVERS!" Pye shouted, tapping at the helm. The ship jerked hard to port then shot forward at full impulse, mere seconds before the space it had previously occupied was abruptly filled with jagged, broken metal.  
"Our first Borg attack and we nearly kill ourselves un-docking," Jall shook his head.  
"The Roadrunner is ordering us to take up a position one thousand kilometres from the expected arrival point, thirty degrees offset from the city approach vector," T'Parief called from tactical. He did not look comfortable, stuff back behind the tiny panel.  
"Tell that British ass that I outrank him, and I'll put my tiny little ship wherever the hell I want!" Stafford snapped.  
"So...where should I park this thing?" Pye asked.  
Stafford thought for a moment.  
"Actually, just do what the British ass said. But make it eleven hundred kilometres. And forty-five degree offset,"  
Pye barely touched the panel before the little ship rocketed in the indicated direction.  
"Gotta admit, this thing handles nicer than a thirty-six deck Ambassador-class," Jall said.  
"Sure," Stafford said, "Nothing like the speed of an eagle and the deflector shields of a butterfly,"

Yanick was holding Allona again while Falax puttered away in the kitchen, a news broadcast playing on the vidscreen.  
"This is Chorty Vella reporting live from the Matrian Cruiser Avatania," a slender, brunette Matrian male with caramel skin tones was speaking on the vid-screen, "We are currently holding position near the expected arrival point of the Borg vessel that, according to Starfleet, was supposed to arrive in our star system some time ago. In this reporter's opinion, there appears to be a lot of hype over nothing,"  
The image changed, showing several Matrian ships holding formation. In the distance, the tiny dot that was Haven was barely visible, the city still far from the expected scene of action. She watched as the USS Roadrunner and USS Hummingbird took their positions, the camera seeming to pause briefly on their Starfleet colours. Yanick imagined she could almost see Stafford's face through the tiny bridge windows.  
There was a flash and a curse, then the camera jumped around. Yanick gasped as the image of a single Borg cube appeared on the screen, dark and menacing as it moved towards the Matrian and Starfleet ships.  
"This reporter chooses to revise his opinion!" Chorty Vella squeaked, "Gruesome death awaits us all!"  
"He's over-reacting, sweety," Sylvia's voice came from the comm, "Really, he's just going to get the population in a panic,  
"Sylvia?" Yanick gulped.  
"Just thought I'd keep you in the loop," Sylvia replied, "I-WHOAH! How about those evasive manoeuvres!" Sylvia's voice was abruptly replaced with what had to be the main ship-to-ship frequency.  
"Cruisers, concentrate fire on three-two-zero mark zero-four,"  
"Hummingbird watch those turns! You're weaving into my arc of fire!"  
"Hummingbird here, standby until we finish our attack run!"  
On the screen, Yanick watched as the two Starfleet ships darted into the cube, unleashing a storm of phasers and photon torpedoes. "Delta-four!" she mouthed almost silently, wanting whoever was piloting to pull the ship into a complicated series of rolls that was good for evading tractor beams. Whoever was piloting opted for the simpler Beta-two, the ship doing a single roll then darting behind a larger Matrian cruiser.  
Yanick cursed.  
"The Borg shields appear to be down slightly," "Recalibrate shield nutation!" that was definitely Stafford's voice, "That's something we always say during Borg attacks, right?"  
"That, and re-modulate phaser frequencies!" Jall added.  
"Still can't believe we almost killed ourselves un-docking...oh hell, this is an open frequency!"  
Yanick's eyes were glued to the screen. The news feed had moved to focus on the Borg ship itself again, but the Hummingbird appeared again before long.  
"...not even firing back?" somebody's voice wondered.  
"Starfleet vessels, this is the Matrian Cruiser Jarissica," a worried Matrian voice came over the comm, "We need you to check something out on the far side of the cube,"  
"Confirmed," T'Parief's voice! Her mate was up there!  
Allona gave an unhappy squeak.  
"Too tight, madam!" Falax chided her, gently relieving her of the infant.  
"Ohhh," Yanick fretted, reluctantly allowing him to take Allona. Falax stood next to her, watching the bobbing and weaving ships as they fired on the Borg ship...which still seemed to be simply sitting there instead of returning fire.  
"Cease fire, cease fire," somebody ordered, "Until they actually DO something, we're apparently going to try to get some intel on them,"  
"Roadrunner and Hummingbird are moving to investigate," another Matrian voice spoke on the open channel. On the screen the ships were still moving, but they were no longer firing on the Borg vessel.  
"I underestimated the...stress...that you must have been dealing with," Falax said abruptly. His tone had changed from snide condescension to...apology? "If I had known this is what was coming, I too would have rushed for my children."  
"I...thank you," Yanick gulped. She watched as the Hummingbird darted around the far edge of the cube and out of sight, terrified that a sudden burst of weapons fire and a flash of antimatter would be last she would see of her partner...and her closest friends.  
"RED ALERT! RED ALERT! FIRE ALL WEAPONS!" a panicked British voice screamed!  
The Avatania must have been convinced that following the Starfleet ships would be worthwhile, because it rounded the Borg ship just in time to see both ships unloading their full weapons compliment at a huge, spongy-looking mass that had collided with the rear of the Borg ship hard enough to embed itself into the hull. The mess must have been six hundred meters in diameter, with huge spikes extending out.  
"Oh my God..." Yanick gulped.  
"Do most Borg ships not look like that?" Falax asked quietly.  
"No," Yanick whispered, "I don't know...I never...Sylvia? What is that?"  
"It's some sort of fungus-based biological ship!" Sylvia replied, "The Roadrunner's computer has more information on it...but if it's not classified now, it sure will be soon. I can't talk about it on this channel-WHOAH! That was close!"  
"You're being shot at!?" Yanick exclaimed "No, Pye just about clipped the Roadrunner! Whoever's flying that ship is drunk! Hold on, Trish, I need to deal with some sensor analysis subroutines,"  
And it was back to the open frequency.  
"-Roadrunner's sending a boarding party to the Borg ship, they're trying to see if they can disable it from the inside,"  
"Keep weapons charged and locked," that sounded like Simplot's voice, "And Roadrunner, calm down! Stop shooting until we figure things out!"  
Yanick paced to the windows and stood there for a moment, looking out at the dark, starry sky. The Borg ship was too far out for any of the battle to be visible. Hell, for all she know, the planet was pointing in the wrong direction for watching anyway. But she still felt compelled to look out there.  
She turned back to the screen. The two Starfleet ships were visible, holding position above the strange, living ship that had been smashed into the Borg cube. Falax was standing facing the screen, Allona held carefully in one arm.  
"Take care of my baby," she told him tightly, turning and rushing for the door.

The elevator took her to the ground floor of her building, and from there it was seconds until she was on the street hailing a taxi.  
"Sylvia," she said, tapping her comm, "Sylvia, I need to know where the closest starport is!"  
"I can tell you that, girl," the cab driver told her.  
"Then take me there!" she told him, closing the door.  
"Patricia, I am still running analysis-" Sylvia said.  
"Sylvia, I'm coming up there!" Yanick cut her off, "I need you to hack the security flux capacitor, or whatever it is that people do when they're stealing spaceships!"  
"Stealing?" the cabbie gulped.  
"Borrowing," Yanick clarified, "Look, I have to go help fight the big Borg ship, OK?"  
"Whatever, girl," the cabbie hit a button and closed the privacy screen, "Don't want to know," she muttered as the screen closed.  
"Trish, you're on course for the Matronus Secondary Starport," Sylvia said after a moment, "but-"  
"Look, you can unlock a Matrian fighter for me, right?"  
"Yes, but-"  
"And at full speed I can be there in minutes, especially if you find me a fighter with a warp drive!"  
"Yes, but-"  
"And dammit, Sylvia, you people need me!"  
"What about Allona?" Sylvia asked.  
"I LOVE HER!" Yanick said fiercely, "But dammit, I am Patricia Yanick, Starfleet officer! I am the best blond, female, Starfleet pilot under five and a half feet in this sector, and I need to be on the bridge of that ship with my crew-mates, kicking some bad-guy ass! Now you will UNLOCK a high-speed fighter ship for me, and I will be there before you know it!"  
"OK...but..."

Ten minutes later.

"You've got to be kidding me, Sylvia!" Yanick whined, stomping one foot with frustration and crossing her arms as she stared at the ship Sylvia had led her to.  
"I tried to tell you," Sylvia chided, "Repeatedly."  
"What is 'jutresat'? Yanick asked, carefully sounding out the Matrian letters on the side of the runabout-sized craft.  
"It's a Matrian delicacy. Sort of a doughy crust, then a layer of tart vegetable based sauce, usually some sliced meats or vegetables. Then covered in a local cheese analogue so the meat isn't visible. And they deliver to you, quite fresh. Silly Matrian custom."  
"Sylvia! This is a PIZZA DELIVERY SHIP!"  
"It's the only warp-capable ship in the city!" Sylvia said, "Everything else is either fighting the Borg or preparing to evacuate civilians!"  
"Why does a pizza delivery ship have warp drive?"  
"How else are they going to make their thirty minute guarantee?" Sylvia asked.  
"Ohhhhhhh!" Yanick seethed.

"Your mission, should you choose to blah, blah, blah," Admiral Tunney spoke from a small screen to one side of the Hummingbird's bridge, "Is to send a team onto the Fungaloid spore ship and...retrieve samples,"  
"Uh, can you be more specific?" Jall asked, raising one hand. Stafford shot him an annoyed look, thought about it for a moment, shrugged and looked expectantly at Tunney.  
"Well, no," Tunney admitted, "We've only had a few hours to analyze the data the Roadrunner brought back on the Federation of Fungus-"  
"Seriously? Of FUNGUS?" Even Wowryk was taken aback. She leaned over Stafford shoulder and looked into the screen.  
"-and even they've never been on a Fungaloid ship. So go do that boldly going thing. And try not to die. At least not until you've beamed back the samples,"  
The screen went back.  
"OK, so T-"  
"On it," T'Parief said, flexing his claws. He stood, then paused.  
"Is this mission," he looked hopefully at Stafford, "unrestrained slaughter?"  
"Why not?" Stafford shrugged, "Just make sure-"  
"To get samples. I will handle it," Fifebee stood from her station and called in Lt Burke to take over, "I am sure there will something of interest,"  
"Right," Stafford nodded, "And don't forget-"  
"Ta take a look at their engineering systems," Jeffery moved from the Engineering panel.  
"And-"  
"I'm in command of the away team," Jall sighed, "Look, T'Parief, just don't get guts in my hair this time, OK?'  
"No deal," T'Parief said bluntly.  
"Is Pysternzyks down in the transporter bay?" Jeffery asked, "Ah know he keeps saying he wants to kill us, but I can't think of anybody else Ah'd really feel comfortable with manning the beam,"  
"Yup," Jall said. And with that, the group exited the bridge through the narrow door in the year.  
Stafford blinked.  
"What just happened?" he asked, looking around the bridge and the mostly Beta-shift personnel manning it.  
"It's a sign," Wowryk said flatly, settling in on an empty chair.  
"From God," Stafford lifted an eyebrow.  
"No," Wowryk shook her head, "That maybe we've been doing this a little too long,"

Yanick's small ship dropped out of warp a nice, safe, reasonable distance from where Haven was rocketing towards the Borg ship. She may have been blond, but that didn't mean she was stupid. Stupid would have been dropping out of warp right next to a bunch of trigger-happy Matrian warships just aching to blow something up. Stupid would have been dropping out of warp too close to the city and crashing into that big pile of junk it was towing. Stupid would have-  
Yanick cursed as she pulled the small ship into evasive manoeuvres, barely managing not to smash into Matria IV's smallest moon.  
Stupid would have been neglecting to plot the locations of the planetary bodies in the system before jumping to warp.  
"OK, lesson learned," she muttered to herself, "Let's not do THAT again!"  
She set a course towards the Hummingbird's position and kicked the impulse engines into overdrive. The ship smelled of stale pizza as it was, and the straining engines were slowly changing the smell from old, stale pizza to old, warm, stale pizza.  
Her course took her within five hundred kilometers of Haven. A nice distance. She keyed the scanners, made sure the city was tracked by the autopilot and noted that she would very quickly over-take the city and be at the Hummingbird in about fifteen minutes.  
Then the city abruptly vanished off her sensors.  
"Uh-oh," Yanick looked out the window, expecting to see a blinding explosion and a spreading cloud of debris. But nope, there was the glow of the city's engines, off her port window. As she watched her ship overtook the city, the domed disk sliding off behind her.  
"That was odd," Yanick mumbled. Why would the city try to block sensors?  
There was a beeping alarm, and Yanick suddenly found her ship in the middle of a small cloud of green, wriggling THINGS that thrashed around as if searching for something. And that something must have been a ship, because they were very, very interested in the one she was flying.  
"SHIT!"  
Yanick gunned the already overworked engines, pulling the ship into a dive. The ship bucked and there was a dull crunch as she collided with one of the spore-torpedoes. Instead of exploding, the thing seemed to have been killed. Why use a torpedo that could be smashed like a bug on a windshield?  
A second one managed to latch itself onto her starboard window, greenish-brown flesh spreading back to expose a clamping, sucking maw. Some sort of secretions dripped from the thing, and when they started touching the surface of the window another alarm started blaring.  
Yanick pulled the ship into a roll, looking for...THERE! She jerked the ship to the side, smashing the spore-torpedo into one of its brethren that was still hunting. The thing vanished with a dull THUD.  
"GET OUT OF THE WAY!" Yanick snapped, pulling up the sensors and plotting the exact location of the Hummingbird.  
It was time to do something stupid. Well, on purpose this time.

Stafford yawned.  
"Nothing from the Roadrunner?" he asked.  
"No," Lt Comd Stern said from Tactical, "Their team is still on the Borg ship, trying to find the vinculum. And our team is still on the fungus ship, killing and maiming and shoving things in stasis jars,"  
"Are you bitter or something?" Wowryk asked.  
"Bitter?" Stern asked, "Why would I be bitter? We've only got the single most fearsome enemy the Federation has ever faced along with an unknown plant-based alien race that nobody has ever really fought before. And I'm up here watching a screen while my team sits down in the crew lounge, waiting to do damage control!"  
"Sometimes the senior staff gets to have some fun too," Stafford said, "I mean, you guys got to go out on play on Kallar IV, right? Wasn't that fun?"  
"Sir, don't patronize me," Stern said flatly.  
"Nothing new from our team?" Stafford asked, deciding to abandon the previous conversation.  
"Nothing,"  
"How about from Haven?"  
"No!"  
"Who would have thought that fighting the Borg would be so boring!"

"THIS IS THE BEST MISSION I HAVE HAD IN MONTHS!" T'Parief roared, ripping his razor-sharp claws through a fungus-infested humanoid and ripping the creature to shreds.  
"Yeah, it's just awesome," Jall sighed, trying to pull strands of intestine out of his hair, "There isn't enough therapy in the world to get me past this,"  
"Wait, don't drop that!" Fifebee lurched, catching the gore in a sample jar before it could hit the squishy deck, "You've already contaminated it with your hair product, I don't need to deal with whatever's on the floor, too!"  
"AHHHH-HA-HA-HA!" T'Parief gleefully charged at some sort of four-legged thing, smashed it against the wall with the crunch of breaking bones, then just for the hell of it proceeded to tear away at the fleshy bulkhead. The fungus-like skin tore aware in long strips, revealing vein-like conduits, fibrous nerve bundles and all sorts of interesting things for Fifebee and Jeffery to collect.  
"Oy, big fella, could ye please open that conduit?" Jeffery asked, "Ah want ta see what energy-transfer medium they-"  
T'Parief gave an almost lazy swipe and a long, lengthwise slash appeared in the indicated tube. Vicious green fluid squirted out, covering Jall in another layer of goop.  
"I don't feel well," Jall said.  
"Hush," Jeffery waved him away, "This is amazing! It's like-"  
Jall heaved, then puked all over the wall.  
"Ach, now ye've contaminated the sample!" Jeffery shouted, "T'Parief, could ye open another-"  
SWIPE! RIP! SPLAT!  
"Thank ye," Jeffery said as another geyser of goop sprayed all over Jall.

"Haven remains on course," Valtaic reported, reading the scanners, "The Borg vessel still has not moved, and will be destroyed in ten minutes if they remain in their current location, unless of course the Starbase and Roadrunner are successful in their poorly thought-out plan to harvest the ship for information and knowledge about the Borg,"  
"Please," Stafford sneered, "Nobody believes for a minute that's even an option. You know, I know...heck, everybody knows that Haven's going to blow the thing up in the end, why even bother pretending otherwise?"  
"I'm getting really weird readings," Burke was frowning, sitting next to the dark-skinned Lithinarian...and with a head of static-charged hair show for it.  
"Weird how?" Stafford asked.  
"The Borg are usually pretty good at resisting our sensors, but I'm picking up weapons fire...defensive shields. And all sorts of really WEIRD life signs! Maybe those fungus things?"  
"I guess," Stafford sounded uncertain, "Wowryk, what do you-"  
"Borg cube is powering up weapons!" Valtaic snapped, "And the spore-ship appears to be drawing energy directly from the cube!"  
"Evasive manoeuvres!" Stafford barked. Pye immediately yanked the ship to the side, barely a second before a Borg cutting beam lashed out exactly where the Hummingbird had been, "Recalibrate the shield nutations! Re-phaser the modulation frequencies! All that Borg stuff!"  
There was a flash of light from the port windows and a small, boxy ship zipped right across their bow, a strange logo visible on one side.  
"HOLY HELL!" Pye barked, yanking the Hummingbird onto yet another course and conveniently evading a spore-torpedo from the fungaloid ship.  
"Who the hell ordered pizza?" Stafford demanded, "We're supposed to be doing battle!"  
"Ah, Hummingbird, this is Jall," the Trill did not sound happy, "Everything just jumped into gear like the DJ dropped the beat...any chance of a beam-out soon?"  
"We need to get below the spore-ship spines to pass their shields and get a good lock," Valtaic said, "Pysternzk is standing by, and I have given him shield control for transport,"  
"Oh boy," Pye groaned, looking out at the wavering spines, the small clouds of torpedoes and the bright weapons flashing out in all directions, "We couldn't have beamed them out BEFORE everything went to hell?"  
"We didn't have to!"  
"Haven will intercept the cube in less than ten minutes," Valtaic reported.  
"I take it we're definitely blowing them up now?" Stafford asked.  
"Yes," Valtaic said, "That plan came through the comm ten seconds ago,"  
"You have to TELL me these things!"  
"Yanick to Hummingbird," Yanick's voice came over the comm., "You guys need a hand?"  
"Why...wait, Trish are YOU in that pizza ship?" Stafford demanded.  
"Well they were out of fighters! And shuttles! And...and I just had to help, OK?"  
Stafford blinked, them he smiled.  
"OK," he said. Really...what else could he say to that?  
"Does that thing have a transporter?" Sylvia abruptly jumped in.  
"Well yeah, how else do they get the pizzas delivered in time?" they could hear Yanick rolling her eyes.  
"I suggest we draw enemy fire while Yanick recovers the team," Valtaic said, exchanging a look at Sylvia's display screen. Her image simply nodded.  
"Sure, why not," Stafford shrugged, "I guess pizza ships are probably lower on the assimilation priority list than a quantum-slipstream tug,"  
"I'm on it," Yanick said.  
"Trish?"  
"What?"  
"Did you bring any pizza?"  
"Uh..."

"What do you MEAN you hijacked a pizza delivery ship and didn't bring any pizza?" Jall's voice came over the comm as Yanick pulled the small ship into a tight turn. Off behind her, the Hummingbird's shields flashed as one of the spore-ship's weapons blast hit it.  
"Three minutes until Haven arrives!" Sylvia called over the comm.  
"Working on it!" Yanick said to Sylvia, "And Jall, I was sort of busy! Besides, you KNOW that Matrian cheese gives most of us horrible diarrhoea!"  
"It's the principle of the thing!" Jall objected.  
"Also, just so ye know," Jeffery spoke up, "We've got hordes of screaming, tentacle-covered fungus things chasing us and T'Parief is getting tired. So hurry up!"  
"Pari? Tired?" Yanick asked.  
"I AM NOT...rip, slash..." T'Parief's voice paused, "Well...tired is too strong a word,"  
"Almost in range!" Yanick spun the ship on its axis, evading another round of weapons fire. Luckily it didn't seem to be aimed at her, but still! Another twist, another blast from the overworked impulse drive and she was below the spikes.  
"Energizing!" she reported. The Matrian transporter hummed for a moment, then Jall materialized on the tiny pad.  
"ONE AT A TIME? ARE YOU KIDDING ME?" Yanick shouted, slamming her fists on the panel and accidentally managing to evade a torpedo that otherwise would have crippled her tiny ship, "JALL! RECHARGE THE BEAM!"  
"Bossy, much?" Jall started tapping at the panel.  
"The Borg ship is moving!" Sylvia's voice came over the comm, "Haven will intercept in less than two minutes!"  
"Ten more seconds to charge the transporter," Jall said, "OK...aaannnndd...wait for it..."  
Yanick pulled the ship around the base of a towering spike as the transporter hummed and Jeffery appeared on the padd.  
"Fifebee says to take T'Parief next," he said, dumping a pile of sample jars on the deck, "She can always build another relay. And by she', Ah actually mean me',"  
"Recharging," Jall said.  
"Jeffery, can you get that stupid Matrian transporter to go any faster?" Yanick demanded, "I'm running out of tricks here!"  
"Do we have an hour and a plasma capacitor bank?"  
"OHHHHHH!"

"You're SURE your plan to destroy this thing is actually going to work?" Stafford asked over the comm..  
"YES!" Captain Simplot's voice came back, "Now stop calling! I have work to do!"  
"Hey, you can't give me that line, we've never slept together! Unlike you and the REST of my staff!"  
There was a pause.  
"How DARE you!" Simplot shouted, "How do you get off judging me, Mr. Slept With Half Of Matria? Now get your pathetic little ship out of the way so we can blow that cube up!"  
"It's YOUR pathetic little ship!"  
click  
"Oh, Chris," Sylvia chided, "You always did have such a way with women,"  
"Just tell Yanick to get out of the way," Stafford grumbled.

"I can't leave, I'm not done beaming yet!" Yanick snapped.  
"This tired old thing is chugging," Jeffery was now working the tiny transporter panel, Jall was crammed up behind Yanick's chair and the samples were stashed on the pizza heater rack. Which was, of course, turned off.  
"Will we even have room for the big guy in here?" Jeffery asked.  
"YES WE WILL!" Yanick screamed "Intercept in one minute!" Sylvia called, "Trish, you're cutting it tight!"  
"Tell Fifebee-"  
"Fifebee has already cut the transmission to her relay and is right here in the computer core with me," Sylvia said, "We triggered the relay's auto-destruct charge ten seconds ago,"  
"It HAS that?" Jall asked.  
"Well, it DOES have sensitive technology in it, ye dolt!" Jeffery said. Then he sighed, "And now Ah have to make another one."  
"Why doesn't she have a spare?" Jall asked.  
"Because Ah'm BUSY!"  
"Forty seconds!"  
"Yanick," T'Parief's voice came over the comm, "Now would be a good time,"  
"You better not mean a good time to talk about having another kid!" Yanick snapped, her fingers running the over the helm panel like a piano player.  
"I need to be alive for that,"  
"The beam is charged, stop running around!" Jeffery called.  
The beam hummed, and T'Parief materialized in the cramped alcove.  
"GO!" Jeffery shouted.

"How the hell is this going to work?" Stafford waved at the view outside the ship, the small vessel's weapons still firing (fairly ineffectively) and the combined Borg/Fungaloid ship. The remaining ships had largely scattered, and off to one side they could see the broad disk of Haven as the city bore down at a respectable percentage of light speed. Unfortunately, the city was no longer on a direct course for the cube and would in fact miss it by several hundred kilometers.  
"You could call her and ask again," Wowryk suggested, "But given the last conversation you two had, I think an apology would be more in order,"  
"I can't believe you're siding with the slu-"  
Wowryk smacked him upside the head.  
"Love thy neighbour," she chided him.  
"Yeah, then why are you HITTING me?"  
"You deserved it!"  
"Ah, guys?" Pye called.  
They looked up. Haven had rotated so it was no longer flying dome-first, but instead with its engines perpendicular to its course. Right, they would have planned to push themselves clear of the Borg ship, leaving their ball of space junk on an intercept course. Of course, the ball wasn't going to hit the cube now anyway.  
And then Haven fired its energy transceiver, this time set as a reverse tractor beam. The beam only lasted for a few seconds, but with the full power of three antimatter reactors and the mass of an entire flying city behind it, it was enough to change the course of the debris by several degrees.  
Right into the Borg ship.  
Haven shot off to the side as the space debris hit the Borg cube like a shotgun blast hitting a wall of cheese. The Borg armor shattered, the denser pieces shot right through, slamming out of the Fungaloid ship fused with the rear half of the ship, trailing streamers of fleshy residue and vital fluids. Something must have hit a power core or two, as there was a blinding explosion then pieces of both ships were flying in all directions. And a small, boxy pizza shuttle zipped past the Hummingbird's bridge window, singed but still functional.  
"Uh...wow..." Stafford said, "Remind me not to piss those Haven people off,"  
"You just did that," Wowryk pointed out.  
"Right. Remind me to apologize."

Captain's Log, Stardate 59561.7

"I have grovelingly apologized to Captain Simplot for implying that she...might be overly welcome to the advances of the opposite sex. And after yelling at me for about ten minutes about equal rights and gender views, I think she accepted. And why am I putting this in my log anyway, you ask? So that you know I apologized, and that she screamed at me like you wouldn't believe and if any harassment stuff comes out of this, at least I tried, OK?"  
"The Borg and Fungaloids have been destroyed, everybody's OK and the pizza place agreed to drop the hijacking charges in return for footage of their ship fighting the Borg and the right to use it in their advertising. Jall managed to talk them into throwing in some free pizza with it, but man that Matrian cheese does a number on my intestines. Again, you're probably wondering why that's in my log, and again...it's just so you know: The pizza place is OK with what happened."  
"Otherwise, it's back to business as usual. Well, mostly."

"I can't believe I have to take a runabout between the planet and the Starbase now!" Jall whined, "Who's bright idea was it to land this thing on an uninhabitable moon in the middle of nowhere?"  
"And I can't even use my back yard until they put the air back in the dome!" Yanick added, gesturing out the window and shuffling Allona from left to right breast. Part of Simplot and Abela's plan to defeat the Borg with high-speed space trash had involved venting the atmosphere from the dome and the water from the lake. Mostly the water, as the mass involved was considerable.  
The Silverado senior staff had gathered in Yanick and T'Parief's large apartment to celebrate the defeat of the Borg. They had chosen the place because it was spacious, being out on the Inner Rim of the city. And it was on the ground level, which mean that the large patio doors usually opened out onto a large yard, complete with trees, lawn and all that good stuff. But the foliage was now blackened and dead from vacuum exposure and the doors and windows had all auto-locked with those unbreakable mechanical locking mechanisms the Matrians seemed to love. Of course, since accidentally opening a window would kill everybody inside, it made sense.  
"How long until Silverado's ready to go?" Stafford asked Jeffery.  
"Depends," Jeffery said, "Reconstruction will be done in three weeks. Testing will take another week...then we have to fix whatever the testing found to be broke."  
"A month," Stafford said, "One more month, people. We can do this. We survived the Qu'Eh, we survived the Tapart, and Kallar IV. We survived the Borg. We can handle one month on this city, without easy access to the planet,"  
"They are bringing miners to the city," Fifebee said to Jall. She was using the jury-rigged relay Jeffery had setup on the Qu'Eh ship until a proper one could be rebuilt, "My historical database indicates that is one of the many isolated, single-gender dominated jobs where same-sex relations are probable,"  
"They're Matrians. They'll all be women!" Jall complained.  
"Ah. Good point."  
"Somebody go be social with Valtaic," Yanick said, "He looks lonely, over by the window."  
"I am not lonely!" Valtaic called back.  
"Nonsense!"  
"Where's T'Parief?" Stafford asked.  
"He's getting more food," "It's not something terrible, like kitten stew, is it?" Wowryk asked.  
"I gave him a list," Yanick shrugged.  
"If he can't get decent food, we'll just crash the Beta Shift party," Jeffery suggested, "They have great taste in snacks,"  
"But the Hazardous Team always finds better beer," Jall pointed out.  
"Hmm. Good point."  
"The science staff-" Fifebee started.  
"No," Wowryk raised a hand, "The last time we checked in on one of their parties, we walked in on strip poker,"  
"And the only thing worse than a pale, pasty-faced nerd," Jall said, "Is a pale, naked, pasty-faced nerd,"  
As the stars shone brightly outside of Haven's clear dome, life continued. For the crew of Starbase 341, it was the dawn of a new era. Matria Prime had survived a Borg attack, the city was now far from the planet it had been meant to orbit, but was also being opened up to new citizens and businesses.  
But for the Silverado crew, it was almost time to move on. Their stay in Matrian Space, far longer than normal for any starship crew, was finally, nearly at an end.


	13. 12 - That Single Life

6.12 'That Single Life'

"No!" Captain Christopher Stafford snapped, blocking the door with his body, "Absolutely not. Not after what happened the last time!"  
"Oh come on!" Jall whined, "I just want to get clean!"  
"This city has thousand of shower stalls," Stafford said, "Pick one!"  
"Uh, Abela is being a total bitch about access control to empty quarters. And we only have one fitness center operating, and...and he's always there!"  
"That body-builder that intimidates you?" Stafford crossed his arms, "Jall, you've been in Starfleet for years! You've been showering next to aliens who look more like the shower mop than they look like you!"  
"OK, look, I can't shower if he's around because last time I...laughed," Jall admitted.  
"Laughed? What?"  
"At the tattoo right next to his...look, he said if he ever saw me in there again, he'd beat the crap out of me." Jall said, "So just let me use your shower! Mine will be fixed any day now!"  
"No!" Stafford said, "Go use Jeffery's!"  
"I don't want to use Jeffery's," Jall said flatly.  
"Then ask Valtaic!"  
"Have you seen his shower? With the electro-whatever he uses to sort out his weird energy thing? It's a death trap!"  
"Wait, why did you see his shower?"  
"Because I didn't want to use yours!"  
"Oh. What about T'Parief?"  
"Noooope,"  
"Well then go find some random crewman and hijack their shower," Stafford started closing his door, "But I look forward to reading the security incident report on that one,"  
And the door closed.  
"Asshole," Jall muttered.

Jeffery had just gotten home from a long day at the shipyard. You'd think that he'd be bored, what with all the work being done by construction bots. But no, he and his staff were kept busy double-checking the work the bots were completing, confirming they had the correct programs for the upcoming tasks, and dealing with all the administrative crap that went with rebuilding a ship. He'd come back to his comfortable apartment, kicked off his boots and collapsed on the couch. Well, the Matrians probably had a different word for it, but to him it was just a couch. The Matrians had a lot of ideas about living spaces that didn't quite match the Starfleet version...but for the most part, they revolved around making living aboard Haven more like living down on a planet. And energy efficiency. And reducing waste. And a few other things that he just didn't have to worry about in the relative luxury of modern starship quarters.  
He briefly thought about getting up to get a drink, but a glance into his kitchen reminded him that he hadn't done anything about the dishes in a few days. Finding a clean glass would probably be a challenge. Almost as bad as finding clean underwear, since yesterday was supposed to have been laundry day. On a Federation ship he simply would have tossed soiled plates in the matter reclamator and uniforms in ship's laundry. But aboard Haven, his apartment had a compact kitchen complete with sink, cupboards, and a somewhat strict usage limit on the matter reclamator.  
He was about to call Wowryk to see if she wanted to get a just-friends bevvy somewhere when his door pinged. Or ba-wooped. He still wasn't sure what to call that Matrian sound.  
He tapped the open tab and stepped back in surprise as Jall walked into the apartment.  
"Hey Jeffery," he said, his expression polite but not exactly happy, "I need to ask a favour...good Lord, what is that SMELL?"  
"Smell?" Jeffery blinked, "Whot smell?"  
"That smell like rancid, rotten," Jall was homing in on the kitchen, "Meat? No...more like...ah hah!"  
Jeffery followed him.  
"Look, mate," he said, "This is sort of me private space so could ye...och, ye wallaper! Did ye stir up a jobby?"  
"What? No!" Jall had pulled something out of the sink, "It's the drain plug from your sink! Haven't you ever cleaned it? It's full of rotten food!"  
Jeffery looked at him blankly. Jall sighed, grabbed some cleaning solution and proceeded to solve the problem. Jeffery sniffed, and had to admit that the rancidness of his kitchen had gone down a little.  
"Now," Jall said, wiping his hands, the reason I'm here is that my shower is broken, Haven maintenance is taking forever to fix it, Stafford won't let me use his anymore and I need to get clean!"  
Jeffery blinked.  
"Any...more? Yer not...makin' a move on me best mate, are ye?" "Shut up, it wasn't like that," Jall poked his head in Jeffery spare room, trying to find the bathroom, "Is that...why is there a dirty bicycle in your spare room?"  
"Well, before they let the air out of the dome, there were some right nice cycling paths!"  
"There is still MUD on the...oh forget it!" Jall eyed the remaining two doors, not sure he wanted to see what was behind either one of them, "Which one is your shower?"  
"Ah don't recall invitin' ye into me home," Jeffery said.  
"Come on, I got rid of your rotten food stench," Jall thought for a moment, "Most of it. Some of it. Come on, Simon! We usually get along fairly well, right?"  
"Aye, Ah suppose," Jeffery pointed, "There's a towel under the sink,"  
"I brought my own, thanks," Jall said. He opened the door, braced himself and stepped in.

It wasn't too bad. The auto-wash had kept the tiled walls of the shower fairly clean, and of course the toilet was self-cleaning. The sink was an unpleasant combination of dried toothpaste and shaving cream...apparently Jeffery wasn't a fan of beard suppressor. But Jall couldn't blame him for that...using a razor was a great exfoliant, after all.  
No, what he couldn't get over was the...the...  
"Oh, God!" Jall gulped. He quickly undressed and stepped over the large pile of Jeffery's dirty underwear that had piled up in the corner where the shower stall met the wall. He tried really, really hard not to see what could have been a skid mark. He really, really tried.  
Jeffery, despite having a decent head of hair, had even less in his shower than Stafford had. Jut a bar of standard replicated soap and a bottle of Starfleet replicated hair-care formula #3. Human, non-greasy hair, moderately dry scalp. He grabbed his toiletry kit, quickly finding a decent facial scrub, a decent shampoo, a conditioner particularly suited to the thick, dark hair that came from his background as one of the slightly Arab-esque flavours of the Trill.  
And his own bar of standard-issue soap.  
Jall was nowhere near the preening, picky, vain image he often presented to Stafford and the rest of the crew...more for his own amusement than anything else. His personal grooming was a level above most of them...but they'd probably be very surprised that Lt Comd Stern actually had a far more extensive collection of personal grooming products than Jall had ever had. He quickly cleaned himself, enjoying the hot water as it ran over his skin. The Matrians, as Jall had also discovered, could be oddly stingy about certain things, particularly if they had an environmental impact. But not when it came to running water. A sonic shower would have been far simpler than the plumbing required for the water version. But for whatever reason, the Matrians had not only designed Haven for water showers, they also hadn't set any of the normal quotas you'd see on a space station or ship.  
Of course, most ships and stations didn't have a lake worth of water reserves, either.  
A banging at the door shook Jall out of his reverie.  
"Oy, mate! I gotta pish!" Jeffery called.  
"Then go find a holodeck!" Jall called back, "They're still refilling the lake, and I don't think it's stocked with fish yet!"  
"Whot? Nae, I have to use the loo!"  
"I'll be done in a minute," Jall grumped. He rinsed off the last of the suds. He was about to step out to grab his towel, when his eye caught that sickening pile of dirty underwear. The pile that definitely didn't have a skid mark. Definitely, definitely not.  
Very, very carefully, he lifted one foot to step over and well clear of the sickening pile.

Jeffery was waiting, not yet desperate but well on his way.  
THUMP!  
"Whot are ye doin' in me shower!" Jeffery demanded.  
Silence.  
Jeffery cautiously put his ear to the door, not sure he wanted to hear what Jall might be doing in there. Listened carefully...nothing? Nothing. The water wasn't even running!  
"Jall? San?"  
No answer.  
Jeffery tapped the privacy override code and the door slid open, revealing Jall collapsed across the floor, a small trickle of blood starting to ooze across the floor.  
"Jeffery to Wowryk! Medical emergency, my apartment?"  
"On my way," Wowryk replied at once, "Wait what's your address? And do you have directions? Are you near a port where we can dock the hover-ambulance, or should we just take the tram?"  
"This was so much easier on the ship," Jeffery muttered, leaning down to start first aid, "Ooch, that's rancid! Ah thought Ah threw those drawers in the hamper!"

"Concussion, laceration to the scalp, but no skull fracture," Wowryk said, running a dermal regenerator over the side of Jall's head, "I've repaired the damage, but the brain is a funny thing, You'll probably have some strange mood swings over the next few days. Maybe a headache or two,"  
"And ye can clean the blood out of me couch," Jeffery added.  
"Do you remember anything else about what happened?" Wowryk asked.  
"I don't...I was showering. I don't remember what happened next," Jall said.  
"Some memory loss is not uncommon," Wowryk said, starting to pack up her equipment. "But do let me know if you forget your name or birth date. That's generally a bad sign,"  
"Maybe somebody needs to be a wee bit more careful in somebody else's house,"  
"Maybe YOU need to get a shower mat!" Jall snapped, "Oh...ow. Too loud." He was wrapped in a towel, sitting on Jeffery's couch while Wowryk worked on him.  
"A whot?" Jeffery looked confused.  
"A shower mat. A thing in your shower to keep you from slipping," Jall explained, albeit more quietly, "I have one! Even Stafford has one!"  
"Never heard of the thing," Jeffery grumbled.  
"Yeah," Jall looked around the filthy apartment, "I can believe that."  
"And whot do ye mean by that?"  
"I MEAN YOU LIVE LIKE A FILTHY PIG!" Jall jumped to his feet, snarling in Jeffery's face. Jeffery jumped back, startled.  
"I'm sorry! I"m sorry!" Jall bit his lip, "I don't know where that came from!"  
"Concussion," Wowryk said, pulling him back onto the couch and double checking her work, "Jeffery, apologize,"  
"Apologize? Me? He's the one that-"  
"That nearly died in your bathroom and may have even suffered brain damage," Wowryk cut him off crisply, "And in this...apartment..." she looked around with an expression of disgust similar to the one Jall had worn, "It's a wonder he's not suffered from sepsis either,"  
"Ah'm sorry," Jeffery said, looking at his feet, "But it's yer fault,"  
"Close enough," Jall muttered.  
"So...Noel..." Jeffery's eyes didn't raise, "How about we have a just-friends drink before ye call it a night?"  
"Right, just-friends drink," Jall muttered, "Next it's just-friends spooning. And just-friends kissing!"  
"As opposed to yer people and yer just-friends sodomy?" Jeffery shot back.  
Jall sprang.

"What do you mean two concussion victims?" Stafford asked tiredly, "I thought you told me Jall fell in Jeffery's bathroom,"  
"Right, well," Wowryk cleared her throat, "Then Jall tried to rearrange Jeffery's face,"  
"What?" Stafford frowned, "That doesn't sound like Jall...he's harmless! A bit perverted, but harmless!"  
"Concussion, maybe some minor brain damage," Wowryk sighed, "Definitely mood swings for a bit,"  
"I guess that could explain why he'd hit Jeffery,"  
"Oh, no I was talking about Simon," Wowryk said, "But yes, Jall is in the same condition,"  
"So what do we do?" Stafford asked, "Other than filling out a ream of paperwork?"  
"Oh, they'll heal naturally, unless God decides to strike them dead of an aneurysm," Wowryk shrugged. Staffor'd eyes widened. "Not that I think that's likely," Wowryk added quickly. Then, under her breath "He would have done it a long time ago, if He had planned to,"  
"So we just sit back, wait, and everything will sort itself out?" Stafford asked.  
"Yes, that's generally best with this sort of concussion," Wowryk nodded, "Some rest, some quiet and no bright lights are exactly what they need."

Next day...

"I'M GOING TO RIP YOUR FUCKING LUNGS OUT!"  
"NOT IF AH TEAR YER ARMS OFF, TALLY-WASHER!"  
There was a crash, then Jeffery landed square in the middle of Stafford's table, knocking his coffee all over his chest and sending his lunch sliding onto his lap. He barely had time to scurry back before Jeffery pushed back and charged back at his assailant, knocking him to the floor. The two of them rolled around the floor of the small cafe, pushing chairs and tables to the side. Several Matrian patrons moved quickly towards the door, but the Starfleet personnel just seemed resigned.  
"Ow, my head!"  
"My head too...but DIE!"  
"What's going on?" Stafford rushed over to where Wowryk and Yanick were watching the scene unfold, brushing the remains of his admittedly unappetizing sandwich from his pants.  
"Jall and Jeffery are going at it again," Yanick sighed.  
"I can see that! Why isn't anyone trying to stop it!" Stafford demanded.  
"Because this is the third time it's happened today," Wowryk said, snagging her coffee off the table before a flailing leg from Jall bumped it hard enough to topple everything else on it, "This isn't good for their concussions, but they haven't really been able to hurt each other. Too evenly matched,"  
"That, and T'Parief is just in the bathroom," Yanick added.  
The bathroom door opened on cue and T'Parief looked over to the two women with a very annoyed, 'why have you let this happen again' expression. He then marched firmly over and picked the two combatants up by the collars of their shirts, one in each arm.  
They flailed and fought for a few seconds, then started looking around. Their expressions were dazed and somewhat confused.  
"Did it happen again?" Jall asked.  
T'Parief rumbled.  
"Ach, mate, Ah'm sorry," Jeffery said, swallowing, "This is gettin' nuts,"  
"Me too," Jall said.  
T'Parief let them down.  
"What started it this time?" he asked Wowryk.  
"Jeffery didn't empty his leftovers into the organic recyclables bin before returning his dishes," Wowryk said, "And when Jall pointed it out, he said 'it doesn't matter, this thing has enough energy to replicate a rainforest'."  
"It does!" Jeffery said, "Ah mean, maybe not the replicator mass, but with the antimatter reactor output-"  
"That's no excuse!" Jall shot back, "It takes two seconds, and not only do you save power on waste reclamation, you don't have to replicate fertilizer for the dome parkland! They compost it! The waste heat-"  
"Why ye-"  
T'Parief grabbed them both before another battle could start.  
"Wowryk, isn't there something you could give them something to calm them down?" Stafford asked.  
Wowryk looked unsure. "This sort of behavioural problem isn't really something I have experience with," she said, "And I'd rather not sedate them, given their injuries. Especially given that Jall is part Trill. I need to do some extensive research before I start with any mood-altering medications. By the time I finish, the problem will likely resolve itself on it's own."  
"We could ask Yvonnokoff," Yanick suggested.  
"So she can televise this? Are you KIDDING?" Stafford gulped, "She's just itching for the right special case she can use to re-launch her show! AWN put her on hiatus during the Qu'Eh invasion, apparently."  
"I...I miss her show," Jall said sadly. He started sniffling.  
"Me too, mate," Jeffery said, chocking up, "Ah think...ah think...things just won't be the same until The Vonna Show is back!"  
"WHHHAAAAHHH!"  
Stafford winced.  
"OK, I'm all for guys expressing their emotions, but this is just getting scary," he said.  
"Yes, I'm also getting a bit concerned," Wowryk said, tapping at her medical tricorder, "But there's no sign of any cerebral trauma beyond what was already detected. No pressure on any parts of the brain, no bleeding, nothing dangerous,"  
"OK, we need help," Yanick declared firmly.  
"Ah love ye, man!"  
"I love you too, buddy,"  
"Wait...are ye goin' fruit on me?"  
"What? No! Why, I aughta-"  
"-totally gonna-"  
"DIE!"  
"Let's do this quickly," Stafford sighed as T'Parief once again separated the two.

"Yes, may I help you?" Lt Comd Fifebee asked tiredly as Stafford, Jall, Jeffery, Wowryk, Yanick and T'Parief walked into Science Complex One. The Department of Research and Knowledge tower held much of the scientific and research facilities the city staff needed, but the Silverado science team had been safely tucked away in a larger, somewhat more corporate research facility not far from Shipyard Three. Fifebee still looked human, but something about her holographic projection was...different. Lines around the eyes and mouth, and she had a stoop to her posture that none of them could recall seeing before.  
"We need you and Sylvia to help us with some...research," Stafford said.  
"Of course you do," Fifebee sighed, "What is it this time? You want to give Wowryk a hypospray that causes clitoral enlargement? "Why would I...oh. That whole me-growing-breasts thing a few years ago,"  
Stafford chuckled, "No."  
"Assistance with T'Parief's sex drive? Or perhaps you simply want me to cease the ageing process?"  
"Uh, why are you being such a bitch?" Jall asked.  
"Oy, be nice!" Jeffery snapped.  
"Quit it," T'Parief shook them both before they could start.  
"I apologize," Fifebee appeared to take a deep breath, then her appearance resumed its normal state, "Sylvia and I had been distracted by the incidents with the shipbuilding bots for some time, and I had assumed that the science team had taken the opportunity to indulge in relaxing idleness in the meantime,"  
"Uh-oh," Stafford bit his lip.  
"Indeed. They...became bored."  
"Do I have to start worrying about crimes against humanity?" he asked quietly.  
"I do not know yet, but I will have a report for you soon," Fifebee said grimly, "But as you are here, you may as well come in,"  
She led them into the lab, a large open space with several workstations scattered around. Some were enclosed in transparent quarantine panels, others were simply wide open. Most of them had half-finished devices of various appearances and states of completion. All of them had one or two science team members looking down at the floor like scolded puppies.  
"For example," Fifebee started, "Ensign Furry was attempting to recreate the device stolen by the insane Klingon K'Eleese from Dillon Enterprises on our first visit to Waystation,"  
"The one that crushes planets down to the size of a walnut?" Stafford demanded.  
"Indeed," Fifebee glared at a contrite-looking Orion male, "And WHY did we do that?"  
"Well, the Matrian scientists said that the maximum density you could achieve-"  
"Wait, you mentioned that thing to the MATRIANS?" Stafford shouted.  
"The security breach paperwork is on your desk," Sylvia interjected, walking over from where she'd been consoling a very upset Silverado scientist, "And luckily the Matrians don't believe him anyway. Which is why he was trying to prove it,"  
"What's his problem?" Yanick asked, pointing to the man Sylvia had been comforting.  
"Fifebee turned half Klingon and yelled at him," Sylvia said primly.  
"He was manipulating Parian reproductive tissues!" Fifebee exclaimed, "If his changes had been disseminated to their population, the result would be an out-of-control explosion in population that would turn them into a locust-like plague of devastation that would sweep over the entire galaxy within a century!"  
"Really?" T'Parief looked interested.  
"Well, there was a 65% chance that it would reduce their life-span below the minimum reproductive age. Which would have resulted in complete extinction."  
"Oh." T'Parief looked less interested.  
"This one is more interesting," Sylvia said, leading them towards a contraption that looked like a mix between a bio-bed and a navigational deflector. Crewmen Smedi and H'Kspada were tinkering at one end of it.  
"Oh, I'd finally managed to convince myself that those two didn't exist!" Wowryk said, massaging her temples.  
"What is it?" Jeffery asked curiously.  
"It's a device to scan your DNA and brainwaves and try to read alternate timelines!" Smedi said proudly, "It sort of links to you, then pokes a hole in space-time to see what you'd be doing in other realities! See, this other ship had a thing happen where their Captain's brainwaves got linked to his ancestor, and they nearly changed reality and destroyed the Federation as we know it, but-"  
"BAD IDEA!" Stafford declared loudly.  
"But-"  
"BAD IDEA!" Fifebee seconded.  
"Oh just give it a try!"  
"T'Parief?" Stafford gestured towards the device. The hulking reptile's eyes ran over it briefly, then he smashed several components to rubble.  
Smedi's eyes narrowed.  
"You clearly don't appreciate genius!" he sneered.  
"Sure we do," Stafford said, "In fact, that's why we're here."  
"Yes, why are you here?" Fifebee asked, gesturing for the two crewmen to depart.  
"These two got their brains scrambled a bit," Stafford said, "We're looking for something to calm down the mood swings until they can heal,"  
"I am admittedly somewhat out of my element," Wowryk admitted.  
"And we don't want to talk to Yvonnokoff about it," Yanick added.  
"Well," Fifebee brightened, "That's certainly less dangerous than tampering with alternate time-lines, particle-crush physics or a nano-dissassembler plague. Let me establish a link to the Starfleet Medical database, and I'm sure between Dr. Wowryk, Sylvia and myself we can come up with something that will do the trick."  
"Thanks," Stafford said, relieved. His eyes widened, "Wait, WHAT kind of plague?"  
"Oh, don't worry, the prototypes were de-molecularized. Every single one." Fifebee assured him. Then, under her breath, "I think,"  
Around the corner, somebody hadn't fucked off quite as far as everyone had hoped.  
"Mood swings, you say?" Smedi murmured.

"Commander Jall?" Dr. Wowryk pulled the hypospray away and started running her tricorder over the officer, "Do you feel any different?"  
Jall looked thoughtful for a moment.  
"I feel the same as I did before," he said. He paused, then added, "I mean, before I wiped out on Jeffery's bathroom floor,"  
"So you don't want to pound the living snot out of him anymore?" Yanick asked cheerfully.  
"No, I just wish he'd clean up his mess," Jall said. His tone was perfectly even, his face fairly neutral, "Hey, can I go? I've got stuff to do,"  
"Hmmm?" Wowryk was looking at her tricorder, "Yes, I suppose. Nurse Veeneman is giving Jeffery his medication,"  
"Thank you. I really need to do some tidying up," Jall stood and walked calmly out of the room.  
"Well, I'm glad that's over with," Yanick said.  
"I guess," Wowryk still couldn't quite shake the feeling that something was off, "I know Fifebee and Sylvia said this drug is approved by the Federation Pharmaceutical Safety Board for humans and Trill, but something just doesn't seem right,"  
"Oh, let's go check on Jeffery," Yanick said, "Then we have time for a drink before you have to go do evening prayers and I have to feed Allona,"  
"Yes, as soon as we check in on Simon,"

"C'mon mate," Jeffery was saying as Wowryk and Yanick walked in, "We haven't done a right-well bender in AGES! Ah'm talking pints, lasses, maybe even wee mite o...OH! A big, greasy haggis to finish it all down!"  
"Jeffery," Stafford said, "We did that several months ago. That's when the Engineer Collector lady showed up, beat us both to a pulp and tried to steal the saucer from our ship,"  
"Aye, but what are the odds that could happen again?"  
"Simon, go home," Wowryk said, running her tricorder over him, "So near as I can tell, the medication is doing what it's supposed to do and is stabilizing your mood. Still, I'd avoid Commander Jall for a few days, to be safe,"  
"Fine," Jeffery said, jumping to his feet, "But hey, Chris? When's the last time ye had something good for dinner? Not like, good for ye, but something just soooo delicious that ye couldn't help yerself?"  
"I don't get where you're going with this," Stafford looked confused.  
"Our replicator rations roll over day after next. Just sayin', tomorrow's the day to feast!"  
"Yeah, ok. Whatever."

Both Jeffery and Jall did, in fact, go home. And both went to sleep, feeling slightly odd, but at least without the strange mood swings that had them ready to kill each other. Bright lights were still a bit painful, and Jall at least still felt a twinge of dizziness. But overall, both felt better.  
Neither was really aware that they hadn't actually slept more than half an hour before they rose. But each felt very different. Calmer, clearer. Their purpose was laid out in front of them. They would correct the wrongs of this world, and they each knew exactly how to do it.  
As he snuck down out of the lobby of Jall's downtown condo building, Crewman Smedi tucked a hypnopaedic device into his pocket. Smash his carefully devised invention? The senior staff would be far too busy to meddle in any more of his work for a while!

The next day largely passed without incident. Work on the ship continued, though the 3CC staff were delighted yet confused when Jeffery showed up with two big boxes of doughnuts. Stafford didn't see most of his senior staff...Valtaic was off doing whatever it was he was doing, Yanick was helping Lt Comd Sage with maintenance checks on the runabouts, Fifebee was still getting her big pile of violation-detailing paperwork ready, and T'Parief had decided that the airless surface of the moon Haven had landed on would be perfect for the Hazardous Team to practice low-gee tactical manoeuvres. By the end of the day, Stafford was ready to go home...even more so because of what Jeffery had said. His buddy had been right: it was time to enjoy something special. Since the start of the Kallar IV mission he'd been eating a mix of low-replicator draw rations, Matrian cooking and healthy, Starfleet Medical (and Dr. Wowryk) approved replicated meals. It was time to have something tasty. Something special. Something from his childhood. Something that spoke to his culture as a resident of the northern half of North America.  
He'd spent a brief fifteen minutes in his kitchen preparing the meal, from replicated ingredients to final, glorious, bright orange results and was just sitting down when the lights abruptly went out.  
"Are you really," a voice said calmly, "Going to eat that?"  
A single light came on at the other end of the room, revealing a shadowy figure. The figure was male, but covered from head to toe in some sort of tough-looking fabric. A geometric pattern of lines, black on dark grey, ran symmetrically along the figures torso and down the limbs, the eyes were simply dark circles.  
Stafford's eyes darted towards the exit, but the figure drew a small blade.  
"I'm not here to hurt you," it said, "But really...do you know how much artificial colouring is probably in that?"  
"It's just replicated Kaydie," Stafford said slowly. The figure tapped at his arm, and Stafford realized there was a small input padd there. The figure cocked his head, as though listening.  
"Actually, it used to be called KD, short for Kraft Dinner," the figure said, "Really? This is how you treat yourself? I've met your family, I've seen the traditional family treats they can create. Perogies? Cabbage rolls? Those little potato-filled buns? If you're going to have a cheat-night, shouldn't you embrace your culture?"  
"Hey, Kaydi-"  
"Kay-Dee!" the figure snapped.  
"It was Canadian culture, back in-"  
"Oh grow up!" the figure snapped, "And look at that mess you left! You didn't even rinse the orange goop, which is NOT cheese by any definition, out of the pot first! Do you KNOW how much harder that's going to be to wash?"  
Stafford's jaw dropped as he finally recognized the voice.  
"Jall? What the heck-"  
"I AM NOT JALL!" the figure snapped, jumping to his feet angrily, "I AM...CAPTAIN FABULOUS! AND YOU WILL NOT EAT THAT SHIT, UNTIL YOU MAKE SOMETHING HEALTHY TO GO WITH IT!"  
"Aw, f**k my life," Stafford groaned.  
Stafford's door abruptly burst open and a second figure bolted in. This one was wearing a suit of similar fabric, but where Jall's was carefully fitted, this one sagged oddly here and there, as though the maker didn't quite understand what he was doing. There was no careful pattern of stripes, curves and shapes, but a random assortment of patches and logos. Stafford recognized the logo for Romulan Distilleries, Snak-O Replicator Snack Patterns and some racing shuttle company he was vaguely familiar with. The second figure ran straight at Jall, who barely managed to get himself into a defensive stance.  
"If he wants to eat that slop, then he bloody well may!" Jeffery's Scottish brogue was unmistakable, "Mate, eat yer orange crap while I keep this buzz-kill off of ye!"  
"Are you two out of your gourds..." Stafford trailed off, "OK, obviously you two ARE out of your gourds, but Simon-"  
"Ah'm not Simon!" Simon declared loudly, "I am...THE ENABLER! And Ah shall enable ye to enjoy yer delicious junk food in piece!"  
"Don't touch that bachelor-chow crap!" Jall insisted, "Do you know how many calories are in that? And it's nothing but fat and carbs!"  
"Ye only live once!"  
"Stafford to-" Stafford had barely reached for his comm-badge when Jeffery threw a small device at him. It popped, and everything electronic in the room abruptly died.  
"HEY!" Jall complained, tapping at his now-useless wrist padd, "My InfoSearch! Do you KNOW how annoying it was to program this? That's why people like YOU shouldn't have access to-AH-HAH!"  
He flicked his wrist and the blade shot towards Jeffery...and simply stuck to him. The blade was too dull to do much more than scratch, but apparently it had held some sort of energy charge, because Jeffery abruptly started to shake, then fell to the deck. "Simon!" Stafford jumped towards the fallen engineer.  
"Yes!" Jall exclaimed, leaping for the cold and quickly congealing bowl of orange pasta, "You will not live to clog another artery! He ran through the kitchen, dumping the food in the organic waste collection bin, set the bowl next to the dishwasher, rinsed the pot in the sink, and then he was gone.  
"I needed this like a hole in the head," Stafford sighed, watching as Jall gleefully ran out the door and down the corridor, giggling like a mad-man, "Simon, are you-"  
Jeffery was also gone. Stafford looked around, briefly spotted an odd distortion moving out his door, the heard Jeffery's voice, fading as he moved down the hall.  
"Ye've won this round, Captain Fabulous! But Ah'll get ye next time!"  
Stafford walked over to his comm-panel, found it had been out of range of Jeffery's little disabling gadget, then tapped the call button.  
"Senior staff, report to my quarters," he said tiredly, "And bring the butterfly nets,"

Crewman Gibson stepped out of the bathroom, canni-vapourizor in hand, only to find a stranger seated on his kitchen counter. A stranger, wearing a grey and black outfit, complete with face-mask.  
"Spaghetti and butter? Seriously? THAT'S your supper? You're even worse than the Canadian!"  
Gibson looked at the vapourizor briefly.  
"Dude," he called in the general direction of Crewman Shwaluk's room, "I think this stuff just kicked in.  
"MMPH! MMPH!"  
Gibson was somewhat surprised to see Shwaluk tied to his chair and gagged.  
"You two are terrible roommates," the masked intruder said, "Why didn't you move in with Lt Bithe, Gibson? I know you're not involved anymore, but really, she could have taught you a LOT about living on your own. Or you, Shwaluk? Nurse Veeneman...well...she'd definitely whip you into shape. And tell her I said Thanks' for leaving all this bondage gear here. Made things easier. Now don't worry, Captain Fabulous will sort you out!"  
"Dude. Uh, this isn't cool. You gotta get out," Gibson said.  
"Oh, I'll get out," Fabulous kicked his legs and slid casually across the counter, "Right as soon as we sort out that disaster you call a laundry pile. Then we're going to get a jumbo-sized scented candle for that bathroom, then-"  
"Uh, we're out of replicator rations," Gibson said.  
"Then we're going start," Captain Fabulous flipped up his repaired InfoSearch padd with a flourish, "by starting you off with a budgeting program!"

"Can't this wait until morning?" Yanick yawned, "It's getting late,"  
"No," Stafford said firmly. He turned, "I'll have the Terran waffles with strawberries and whipped cream. And make sure the coffee isn't decaf,"  
"Earthling tire tracks with the slapped milk and the red seeded fruit nuts," the waiter replied promptly, "And you ma'am?"  
"I'll have the Idanian spiced pancakes," Wowryk said, "Easy on the spice,"  
"Spicy flats with less spice, got it,"  
"Why are we meeting at a Matrian waffle house?" Valtaic asked.  
"Because it's the only place that's still open and serves Earth food at this time of night," Stafford snapped, "Now order,"  
"I will try the...Klingon sausage?" Valtaic looked uncertain.  
"Phallic warrior meat, coming right up."  
Yanick blew coffee out of her nose while Wowryk looked on disapprovingly.  
"Coffee with that?" the waiter asked, non-plussed while Yanick cleaned up with a napkin.  
"Please," "And I need a refill," Yanick said, "Oh, and how about the Matrian oatmeal?"  
"Home-style mashed grits, right," the waitress departed.  
"She really needs to fix her translator," Fifebee observed.  
"OK, let's just try to get this newest mess fixed so we can get to sleep," Stafford sighed, "Wowryk? Fifebee? What the hell?"  
"Well, this sort of mental instability is NOT on the Federation Medical list of known side effects" Wowryk said immediately.  
"Fifebee?"  
"I would have suspected perhaps it had something to do with Jall's Trill side," Fifebee said thoughtfully, "But that doesn't explain the impact on Mr. Jeffery. There is something we are missing, which the Doctor and I will of course research. It will tie in nicely with Crewman Milth's illegal experiments on hallucination-inducing Matrian toad excretions,"  
"Wait...what?"  
"For possible medicinal use," Sylvia immediately clarified, "Or at least it would have been, if he'd filed any of the necessary permits before he started,"  
"But the test subjects will be fine," Fifebee assured him, "And the paperwork is-"  
"On my desk," Stafford did not look happy, "That doesn't help us right now. Why are they running around dressed like...like...wanna-be superheroes?"  
"The Enabler. Captain Fabulous," T'Parief said dryly, "Is it not obvious? That is exactly what they have become, in their current state. Wanna-be superheroes."  
"Yeah, OK," Stafford sighed, "So how do we keep them under control long enough for Fifebee and Wowryk to figure this out?"  
"Their suits are sufficient to block any attempt at forced medication," Valtaic said thoughtfully, "We could attempt to detain them, but as Jeffery has shown, they seem to have outfitted themselves with the usual array of superhero tricks. And of course using phasers would alert Haven security."  
"Ladies?" Stafford asked, turning to Yanick and Wowryk as they quietly conferred.  
"You guys are going about this all wrong," Wowryk said with a sigh, "If you try to overpower them, they're just going to do something annoying and unexpected that'll make it ever harder to get close to them next time. It is simply the way these things work,"  
"And?" Stafford leaned back as the waitress put a plate full of waffles in front of him, "What's your bright idea?"  
"Didn't you pay attention to WHAT Jall was doing?" Wowryk asked. T'Parief's comm-badged chirped, and he stepped away to take the call.  
"He was being an ass, as usual,"  
"No," Yanick said, "Noel's right. He was being...well...how do I put this? He was criticizing your lifestyle habits,"  
"That's rich!"  
"She may have a point," Valtaic said, "he attempted to prevent you from eating junk food, and chastised you on your poor housekeeping,"  
"And he has forced Gibson and Shwaluk to create a replicator credit budget, along with properly sorting their laundry," T'Parief added, closing a comm link.  
"Frankly, you guys needed somebody to come along and sort you out," Wowryk said, crossing her arms.  
"So he's turned into some sort of...crazy mother-in-law?" Stafford said, through a mouthful of waffle, "What about Jeffery?"  
"The Enabler. Doesn't that say it all? He's taken on the opposite persona," Wowryk said, "Encouraging juvenile behaviour and general slobbery," she sighed, "I never could get him to pick up his dirty clothes,"  
"The question," Valtaic asked, "Is why do we care'? Clearly they are not likely to do any harm and are merely...annoying. Let them play out their foolish fantasies until the medication, or whatever is causing this problem, wears off,"  
"If they pull this sort of stunt on any of the Haven crew, or the Matrian civilians living in the city..." Yanick trailed off.  
"We're going to have another station to add to the list of places we aren't welcome," Stafford sighed, "OK. I'll handle Jeffery. He was trying to talk me into beers earlier. I'll just call him up and say I changed my mind. I should be able to keep him busy for a while,"  
"Getting drunk?" Wowryk looked disapprovingly, "Is that your solution to EVERYTHING?"  
"Hey, don't start with me on substance abuse issues right now, Doc!"  
"What about Jall?" T'Parief grumbled, "May I simply crush him?"  
"Noooo..." Stafford looked thoughtfully, "Who do we have that could keep him busy for a while with his delusional nagging?"  
"I think I know just the security team for the job," T'Parief allowed himself a small grin.  
"This is actually quite delicious," Valtaic said as he finished off his Klingon sausage, "I would not be opposed to future staff meetings at this restaurant,"

"OK," Lt Rengs Aris surveyed the living room of the large two-level, three bedroom apartment he and his wife shared on the Inner Rim, "Lt Comd Stern, sir, the kitchen?" "I've tossed the fresh produce in the garbage and the dishware in the compost," Stern reported, "I've got crumbs on the counters, dirty dishes in the rinse sink and the replicator materialization chamber is obstructed with an empty coffee cup,"  
"Perfect. Simmons? Bathrooms?"  
"It looks like a bomb went off," Simmons gave a mock salute, "A shaving cream bomb, to be exact,"  
"Good. Keklor?"  
"I have ensured that the waste materials for recycling have been incorrectly sorted," the hulking Klingon said, "I have also started a Brew Your Own Blood-Wine' kit, with enough targ bile slopped to ensure maggots within the day,"  
"And Marsden? The temperature controls?"  
"Set to minimal overall efficiency," the tech-expert assured him, "And the thermostat is at least four degrees too hot for this time of day,"  
"Excellent," Rengs nodded, "Now, I'll just put a question out on the ships social media net asking if anybody knows if ten minutes is long enough to marinate a steak, and he'll be here in no time,"  
"It's a good thing one of us is married," Stern remarked, "I never would have thought of this stuff,"  
"Actually, you would have. Isn't that the whole problem?" Marsden asked.  
"Just...go fiddle with the thermostat some more!"  
"My wife is going to be very, very angry when she gets home," Rengs sighed.

Stafford sat in the bar next to the Silverado Steakhouse temporary crew lounge, sipping a glass of water. Steven and most of his staff had gone home for the night, the restaurant portion was closed down, and only a few crewmen were sitting in the room while Mary worked the bar.  
"Get you another glass of water?" she asked him with a smirk.  
"Please," Stafford said, "But have the good stuff ready. This is all part of a genius plan we have to...actually, never mind. There's no way I can spin this situation so any of us look good,"  
"You look better than that guy, at least," Mary said, gesturing towards the door.  
Stafford turned to see Jeffery...er...The Enabler striding into the bar, his ill-fitting outfit sagging in some places and way too tight in others.  
"Water? Why are ye drinkin' that when there's all this great beer on tap? Do ye know how much trouble the barkeep went to ta do this? Ye gotta show yer appreciation, mate!"  
Acting time.  
"You're right," Stafford said, trying to look disappointed, "But I promised Yanick and Wowryk that I wouldn't drink tonight. They say it's bad for my liver, even if it is synthehol. And of course they won't let me touch the really good stuff...the real alcohol..."  
"Go take a runnin' f**k at a rollin' doughnut! Have a beer! Ohh...or better yet, is that real Polish vodka I see on the shelf?"  
Mary was just staring.  
"Is that Lt Comd Je-"  
"Quiet," Stafford said out of the side of his mouth. He cleared his throat, "Gee, Jef...Enabler, I'm not sure I can do that. Wouldn't my dear friends be upset?"  
"With one little drink? Nawww...they'd never know, right? And besides, why would ye agree ta that? Yer not datin' them. They don't have any business telling ye what ye can and can't do, right?"  
"That is true," Stafford said, pretending to think, "Well, maybe I could have one small sip,"  
"Mix up a double, me good lass!" Jeffery slapped the bar-top, "What's yer mixer? Och, whot am Ah sayin'? With that stuff, ye can't mix it with sugary crap. Straight up!"  
Stafford suddenly wondered just how long he'd be able to stall Jeffery.

"We haven't seen him yet," Rengs reported to Wowryk and Fifebee over the comm, "The message is out, we're ready to go...he just hasn't shown up,"  
"Yanick? Can you poke around with the sensors? We're sort of occupied at the moment," Wowryk said. The women were back at the science complex, Wowryk going over the logs for the pharmaceutical synthesizer, wondering if there was some quirk of its Matrian design she had missed. Fifebee was examining the nearby workspaces and experiments to see if there was anything that might have accidentally contaminated the medication before they'd given it to their patients.  
"Lieutenant Yanick to all Silverado personnel," Yanick said, "Make sure you let us know if you see Comd Jall or Lt Comd Jeffery. They're...well, if you see them, you'll understand why. Yanick out."  
"TRISH!" Wowryk snapped, "Are you NUTS?"  
"What?" Yanick twirled a strand of hair in one finger, "I don't know why we didn't do that sooner. They've got to be with someone from the crew,"  
"They ARE Silverado personnel!" Wowryk pointed out, "You just tipped them off!"  
Yanick put her hands on her hips.  
"They ALREADY know we're looking for them!" she shot back.  
"Oh...good point."  
"Staf...Stafford to Yanick..." Stafford's voice was slurred but hushed.  
"Captain?" Yanick asked.  
"Jeffery is here, as planned. But send...hic...send Valtaic or someone. I need backup. And be quick! Jeffery's in the loo!"  
"The what?"  
"Bathroom...Staf...hic...Stafford out!"

Valtaic arrived in the nearly empty lounge and immediately caught Mary's worried eye. She nodded to the end of the bar, where Stafford and the badly-dressed Enabler were raising their glasses in a toast.  
"To good times!" Jeffery said, tapping his glass to Stafford's, "And to doing whatever we want, no matter what other people say!"  
"To...times...say..." Stafford slurred, then downed his drink.  
"Hey, Spark-light!" Jeffery greeted Valtaic, "Get you a drink? It's the good stuff,"  
"Please," Valtaic nodded. As Jeffery turned, Valtaic caught Mary's eye again and gestured towards the far end of the bar, hoping to get some space for him and the Captain. Fortunately, Mary caught on immediately and moved to the far end.  
"Oy! Barkeep!" Jeffery, well, The Enabler called, "Come back with that!"  
"May I be of assistance?" Valtaic offered politely.  
"Help," Stafford muttered, his head falling onto the bar, "I over...over...overeshtimated what I could handle,"  
"Why didn't you ask Mary to switch your vodka for water?" Valtaic asked curiously.  
"Shit," Stafford muttered, "Good idea. Except I didn't know he'd pick vodka...wait...I should have. I usually drink vodka, don't I? Do I? I don't remember."  
"May we simply apprehend him and end this ill-advised attempt at distraction?" Valtaic asked.  
Stafford tried to shift his weight, but simply fell off the stool in a heap.  
"Do as you...hic...think best," he groaned.  
"Yer drink!" The Enabler said cheerfully, handing Valtaic a glass full of something bright blue.  
"Thank you," Valtaic accepted the glass, raised it to take a drink, then caught Mary shaking her head in the background.  
Thinking fast, he tossed the drink in Jeffery's face then shot his arm out, going for the throat. Jeffery moved to block, grabbing his arm with both of his.  
Valtaic surged, letting energy flow down his outstretched arm. Jeffery grunted, his grip tightening as Valtaic poured out power, sparks flying and bright blue bolts shooting out in all directions, but as he'd feared the stupid suit Jeffery was wearing was insulating him from the worst of it.  
"Pretty," Stafford muttered from the floor.  
Valtaic extended his fingers, making contact with the wet portion of Jeffery's suit, just above his breastbone. The effect was immediate, Jeffery flying back and falling to the floor, body jerking and spasming as rivulets of energy ran over him. Valtaic walked over and peeled off the mask, checking for a pulse and confirming that he'd knocked him out without killing him.  
"Valtaic to Yanic," he tapped his comm-badge "I have Jeffery. Please send somebody to collect him,"  
Stafford groaned.  
"And the Captain," Valtaic added.

They got Jeffery back to the lab without incident. Once he was in position and suitably restrained, Wowryk started taking readings.  
"There're no cameras in here, are there?" Stafford asked, rubbing his head and sipping a glass of water. Wowryk had shot him up with an alcohol counter-agent and he merely felt like he should be dead.  
"Why?" Wowryk asked.  
"Because if anybody sees him like this, we're going to be investigated for war-crimes," Stafford said flatly.  
The lab didn't have any bio-beds, but it did have a maintenance rack for working on the Matrian construction bots. It was the right size and shape, and had a metal sheet for Jeffery to lie on. But the various tools and cutting arms for examining and repairing the bots were menacing, to say the least. And it didn't help that Jeffery was secured to the frame with multiple metal shackles.  
"It's all we have at the moment," Fifebee replied tersely, running a tricorder over Jeffery.  
"Stern to Yanick,"  
"Yanick here!" Yanick said brightly.  
"We still haven't seen Jall. And this Blood-wine kit that Kreklor put together is starting to fester,"  
"You mean ferment? That's what booze does,"  
"No, from the smell we're certain it's festering."  
"It is supposed to smell like that!" Kreklor's voice could be heard in the background.  
"Seriously, we need him to show up and sort this out," Rengs' voice cut in, "If Maris sees the place like this, I'm dead,"  
"Why didn't you use Stern or Marsden's place?" Yanick asked, "Aren't they already messy?"  
"My gaming rig is irreplaceable!" Marsden declared, "Do you know how long it takes for parts to arrive here?"  
"And none of us are willing to go into Stern's bedroom," Rengs added, "So have you guys heard anything yet?"  
"Nope," Yanick said.  
"Where is he?" Stafford wondered.

"Let me just explain to you how simple this is," Jall...er...Captain Fabulous was saying, "You take off your shirt. And where do you put it?"  
"Uh..."  
"OK, I know, you clearly just toss it on the floor," Jall, looking in disdain at the heaps of soiled cloths filling the small space, "How can you live in such squalor? And the SMELL? It's like...a whole soccer team's worth of sweaty socks! OK. Let's try this again. Where SHOULD you put your laundry when you finish with it?"  
"I...I just..."  
"IF YOU'RE ABOUT TO SAY THAT YOU JUST THROW THEM OUT AND BUY A NEW ONE INSTEAD OF CLEANING THEM, I PROMISE YOU'RE GOING TO HAVE A VERY, VERY BAD DAY!" Jall bellowed.  
Crewman Smedi shrunk back as Jall stalked around the small space, "And I don't even SEE the dirty underwear! What did you do with it, Mister? Is it buried underneath? Did you put it in the matter-reclamator? That's NASTY! That's not what it's for!"  
Smedi groaned. "Please leave,"  
"NEVER!" Jall declared, "Not until we have this sorted out!"  
"Yanick to all personnel," Yanick's voice came through Smedi's comm badge, "Oh! I mean Silverado personnel! Sorry Haven folk, I probably woke a bunch of you up. Computer, remove all non-Silverado personnel from this call. OK people, we have The Enabler in the science complex! Keep an eye out for Ja...I mean, Captain Fabulous! Let me know if you see him!"  
Jall's eyes narrowed behind his mask.  
"Sorry," he said to Smedi, "We'll take this up again, later."  
He left.  
"This was not one of my better ideas," Smedi muttered.

"Definitely a contaminant in the medication," Wowryk was saying, "Some sort of organic compound, no idea what it is though. This computer can't figure it out either."  
Fifebee leaned over to take a look.  
"That's the toad-based hallucinogenic," she said, "But how...it's in the quarantine lab down the hall? How in the name of nVidia did it get into the pharmaceutical synthesizer?"  
"Worry about it later," Stafford said tensely, "If he's been listening to Yanick's transmissions, he'll be here any minute!"  
They waited. And waited. And waited a little bit longer.  
No sign of Jall.  
"Stafford to Rengs," Stafford tapped his comm-badge. He was feeling somewhat better, merely wishing to be unconscious instead of dead, "Any sign of him?"  
"None,"  
"I don't get it," Stafford said closing the channel, "We've got his nemesis all trussed up for him. We've got the perfect pit of filth just waiting for his...uh...special touch. Where is he?"  
They thought for a moment.  
"Comd Jall is aware that Lt Rengs is married?" Valtaic asked suddenly.  
"Everybody is," Stafford nodded.  
"And in Terran culture, it is single, young, unmarried males who are more likely to be...in possession of poor life habits?"  
"I had this girl roommate who thought that it was OK to pee in the shower," Yanick spoke up.  
"I see where you're going with this," Stafford nodded, "No, Trish, not you, that's disgusting. But yeah, Valtaic. Shit. Why would he show up at the Rengs' place? His wife is a school teacher, for crying out loud! You could probably eat off their floors!"  
"Or you could have before his squad-mates got to them," T'Parief chuckled.  
"But we have Jeffery-"  
"Jall...Captain Fabulous must have something more important in mind than defeating his arch-enemy," T'Parief grumbled.  
"Well, if Jeffery counts as an arch-enemy, Yanick giggled, "I mean, we got him fairly easily, right? Besides, I think Jall's probably more concerned with muddy footprints than beating up Simon,"  
"But beating up Simon was almost all he could think about when he had the mood swings!" Stafford frowned.  
"And yet," T'Parief said, "He is not here."  
They all frowned.  
"What would draw him?" Stafford wondered, "How do you get the attention of a man obsessed with stamping out...I don't know. Unhealthy eating? Lazy housekeeping? General slobbery?"  
"And he knows that the one man most likely to stop him," Valtaic gestured to Jeffery, "Has been restrained."  
"Oh!" Yanick jumped up, "The miners!"  
"What? Kids? They still live with their parents," Stafford shook his head, "Or in the Matrian communal creches, whatever,"  
"Miners, sir, not minors," Yanick said.  
"Hey, that's somebody else's joke. But what about them? The miners?"  
"You head Jeffery talk about the replicator credit roll-over, right?"  
"Yeah,"  
"Well, the mining teams they brought up to Haven after it landed on this moon?" Yanick asked, "Last replicator credit roll-over night, they booked one of the empty lounges near the ore processing center between Shipyard 4 and Shipyard 5. They brought up strippers from Matria Prime, got one of the Shipyard One crew to DJ, and bribed a Haven technician to override the synthehol limits on the replicators. The only thing they didn't do was arrange for a clean-up crew,"  
"Would Jall know about this?" Stafford demanded.  
"They asked if he'd be willing to be a stripper, for the last one," Yanick shrugged, "I dunno about this one,"  
"Did he say...no. I don't want to know. But why didn't he go straight there?"  
"Too many people?" T'Parief mused, "He is only one man. Attempting to annoy so many, and with the risk of Jeffery showing up..."  
"Why didn't Jeffery go there?" Stafford asked.  
"I doubt they needed MORE enabling," Wowryk offered still working away at her station.  
"If he's not there already, we'll try to beat him to it," Stafford ordered, "Wowryk, Sylvia, Fifebee, try to figure out how to reverse the effects of the medication. Or the contaminant. Whatever. The rest of you, with me,"  
They quickly left.  
"A countering agent for the toad secretions is easy," Fifebee said to Wowryk as Sylvia checked that Jeffery's restraints weren't too tight, "That had to be created before testing it could even begin, even Crewman Milth knew that."  
"Right," Wowryk replied, "But it can't be that simple. His test subjects acted erratically, but not with the...er...conviction that Jeffery and Jall are showing. What else could be at play here?"  
"Sylvia? My analysis engine is currently processing another query," Fifebee asked.  
"It could be a result on their fixation on each other post-concussion," Sylvia said, after a moment of thought that represented an inhuman level of data processing, "Or external suggestion influencing him. Possibly hypnotic,"  
"I don't feel like I'm under the influence. In fact, I feel pretty good," Jall's voice rang out.  
"Fifebee!" Sylvia warned, but too late. Jall tossed a device the size of a grenade between the two holographic women. It popped with a dull sound, like a watermelon hitting pavement, then the two of them started flickering in and out, their features blurring, colours bleeding.  
"Ionization grenade," Captain Fabulous explained to Wowryk, pulling one of his electrified knives out of his belt, "Won't damage a thing, not even a mark on the floor. But it screws up holograms something fierce,"  
"Their programs are still in the computer," Wowryk said defiantly, "They'll be fine,"  
"Oh, sweetie, I'm counting on it!" Capt Fabulous gave a reassuring gesture, "Sylvia has been my greatest ally among this crew, her efforts to save you from yourselves have been nothing short of heroic! Well, OK, she shouldn't let the Canadian eat so much cheese, but still! And Fifebee is just so...so...CLEAN! It's too bad her staff got her into this current mess!"  
"What's a Canadian?" Wowryk asked, trying to stall him as she reached for the comm-panel.  
"Stop!" Capt Fabulous snapped, gesturing with the knife. Wowryk lunged for the panel, but the knife flicked out. It barely scratched her, but the electric shock still knocked her to the ground.  
"Well shoot," Jall muttered as he accessed a panel, shut down Fifebee's program and Sylvia's data link, "Now I'll have to carry her,"

"Sylvia to Stafford,"  
"Stafford here," Stafford tapped his comm-badge. They were almost at the miner's event, and he was breathing a bit heavy from the rush.  
"I think we may have a prob-" The channel abruptly closed.  
"Stafford to Sylvia," he tried. No answer.  
"Stafford to Fifebee? Stafford to Wowryk?"  
No answer.  
"Uh-oh," Yanick muttered.  
"Do we go back?" T'Parief asked.  
"We don't know if it's Jall, or if Jeffery escaped," Valtaic pointed out.  
Stafford thought for a moment.  
"T'Parief, you and I will check out the mining crew event," he said, "Valtaic, take Yanick and head back to the science labs,"  
"Ohh, yeah, let's split up!" Yanick said, "Cuz that always works so well,"  
"Got a better idea?"  
"Well...no."  
"C'mon," Stafford said to T'Parief.  
It didn't take long to find the mining event. The Matrian miners may have been part of an alien race, but they were still a race of social primates that had followed an evolutionary path similar to humans. The music was alien, but it was loud. The smells coming from the refreshments were not appetizing, but they were still food. And the collection of miners would have put any human female heavyweight body builders to shame, but they were still making their best effort to use up any remaining replicator rations any of them might have had left.  
"Do you see Jall?" Stafford asked.  
"No," T'Parief replied. He continued to scan the room, "Look!"  
He pointed at a small glint of metal sitting on the floor near one corner. Stafford moved closer, then realized it was a Starfleet comm badge. He reached to pick it up, only at the last second hearing T'Parief's startled cry and noticing the wire that ran from the badge.  
There was a jolt of pain up his arm, then everything went black.

Stafford woke up feeling terrible. Between the alcohol, the antidote, whatever had just hit him, and the fact that it was way past his bedtime, it was really turning into a crappy night.  
"Wow, that sucked,"  
"Oh good," a familiar voice said, "You're alive. And apparently you don't have brain damage. At least nothing significant."  
"Wowryk?" he asked.  
"Not just me," Wowryk said.  
Stafford opened his eyes and found himself on a small bunk, in a small room with a number of illuminated bars obstructing the exit. A brig.  
"Me too," Yanick's voice, also not sounding happy, "And T'Parief is tied up in his own cell,"  
"I as well," Valtaic said. There was a sloshing sound.  
"Why...why are we in a Matrian brig?" Stafford asked.  
"You thought I was going to rush in to get The Enabler? With all of you just waiting to pounce?" Captain Fabulous strode calmly into view, his carefully tailored outfit still fitting perfectly, "You realize I'm fairly smart, right? I know what bait is."  
"Apparently I don't," Stafford grumbled, eyeing the red comm-badge shaped mark on his hand.  
"Apparently you don't," Captain Fabulous went on, "All I needed to do was bide my time, and wait until you started to split up! Now, I can bring you all to justice!"  
"Us? What did we do?" Wowryk demanded.  
"There's the matter of an entire laboratory full of illegal experiments!" Captain Fabulous snapped.  
"Ohhh, goody," Stafford groaned, "Somebody else's fuck-up coming to bite me in the ass,"  
"As Captain, responsible, crew, command, yada-yada-yada," Capt Fabulous said, "But really, you people just prove my point! First it's improper disposal of food scraps, bad hygiene and piss-poor housekeeping, the next thing you know you've got flesh-eating bacteria run amok, dangerous technology threatening to destroy the known universe and genetic plagues ready to wipe out whole species!"  
"Or turn them into an unstoppable wave of destruction," T'Parief pointed out.  
"Just as bad," Fabulous rolled his eyes. "I beg to differ,"  
"He has a point," Wowryk said, "Cleanliness is next to Godliness,"  
"So what now? You kill us?" Stafford demanded "No, of course not," Fabulous looked surprised, "I've left an anonymous little note with Haven security. They'll be here any minute now."  
"And you'll just hand us over?" Stafford asked.  
"That's the mature thing to do,"  
"Gee, OK then Captain Fabulous," Stafford tried to look contrite, but was having a hard time keeping the smile off his face, "We give up. We'll just sit quietly until they arrive."  
Fabulous was suspicious.  
"Why-"  
WHAM!"  
The Enabler slammed into him from behind, knocking him to the ground. Pieces of the improvised restraints that had held him to the bot frame still dangled here and there, shiny edges showing where something had cut through them. Probably the broken off piece of metal that looked like it used to be part of said bot frame and was now being brandished by The Enabler like a club.  
They struggled, rolling across the floor, arms reaching, legs kicking and heads either head-butting, or turning to avoid head-butts.  
"Wait, I'm confused," Yanick said, "Why is Jef...uh, The Enabler trying to help us?"  
"Because his stated purpose is to enable us to indulge our bad habits," Valtaic exclaimed. Stafford could see now that inside his cell, he was half-submerged in a tub of water, probably to prevent him from zapping anything. Or anybody.  
"But WE tied him up!"  
"That was YE!?" The Enablers head snapped towards Yanick, "Ah thought it was part of HIS plan!"  
"Oops," Yanick muttered.  
The Enabler didn't have time to further contemplate the issue, as Fabulous attempted to flatten his nose.  
"Shouldn't we be trying to escape?" Wowryk asked.  
"Oh, I think I have it covered," Stafford said, "Something Jall mentioned earlier."  
"Really," Wowryk did not appear confident.  
The doors to the brig area hissed open and a mix of Starfleet and Matrian security personnel stormed in, led by a man who looked like each muscle probably needed its own area code.  
"What the hell?" he demanded.  
"Yeah, hi," Stafford waved politely, "We're being held against our will. Could you stun those two and let us out?"  
"What's this about illegal experiments?" the man, presumably Haven's security chief, demanded.  
"They're both nuts," Stafford said.  
"Uh-huh," the security guy looked doubtful.  
"You've got it covered, huh?" Wowryk muttered.  
"Also," Stafford pointed at Jall, "He was telling us about this tattoo you have that he thinks is just hilarious,"  
Jall never even knew what hit him. But it was the security guy. Throwing him into a wall.  
Hard.  
Jeffery tried to run, making it all of two steps before three different security guards had him pinned to the ground.  
In less than ten seconds, it was all over.

Captain's Personal Log:

"OK, that wasn't the best way to resolve that issue. After Lt Stoneryder pasted Jall to the wall, we managed to convince him that everything was fine, there were no illegal experiments, and Jall and Jeffery were just the victims of contaminated medication. After he let Wowryk out, she got Fifebee and Sylvia back online and, using proper bio-beds this time, restrained the two until the effects wore off. Then I got to send off the big pile of paperwork to Starfleet explaining all about the illegal experiments, how we shut them down, dealt with the perpetrators, etc, etc."  
"Needless to say I had an unpleasant visit with Captain Simplot. Then the Matrian Science Ministry. Then the Federation Ambassador decided to weigh in. So all in all, it's been a pretty bad day,"

"How did Jeffery escape, anyway?" Jall asked.  
"Please, he's an engineer," Stafford said, "And both of you were listening in on our comms calls. As soon as I realized he'd been left alone, I knew it was just a matter of time before he'd break free and come after you."  
"I can't help but notice," Jall said, "That most of the problem was Fifebee's staff's fault, not me or Jeffery. Did they figure out how the medication was contaminated, by the way? Or why we fixated on what we did?"  
"No," Stafford said, "They were too busy filling out the Man, we really screwed up, but we really, really promise not to do it again' paperwork."  
"Well, I'm sorry I zapped you with an electro-knife," Jall said.  
"Never mind that you threw out my only box of KD!"  
"Which is why," Jall brandished a wooden spoon in Stafford's direction, "I'm making you REAL macaroni and cheese!"  
"Goody," Stafford grumbled.  
"Rengs to Jall,"  
Jall juggled the cooking implements he was holding and managed to hit his comm-badge,"  
"Yes?"  
"Sir, I really, really need your help!" Rengs hissed. In the background, they could hear the sound of angry, female shouting "My marriage depends on it!"  
"Oh yeah," Stafford winced, "I forgot about him. Man, I bet his wife is pissed."  
"Be there shortly, I just have to get this casserole in the oven!" Jall said cheerfully.  
"I'd really appreciate it if you hurried! Rengs out."  
"Please, don't stress on my account," Stafford said, looking at the pile of pasta and uncooked cheese.  
"Well, here then," Jall handed him the wooden spoon and a cookbook padd, "You cook it. As for me, it's Captain Fabulous, to the rescue!"  
"Just GO!"

End.


	14. 13 - In The Depths

6.13 In the Depths'

Author's Note: OK, there is one paragraph that's full of Halfway to Haven spoilers...but I couldn't bring myself to take it out.

"Aw Simon, come on!" Captain Christopher Stafford whined, though of course he would deny that the eager, pleading tone he was using was whining. Would deny it to his last breath. But the truth is, he was whining. "Let me on board! How can you let me up here, let me see all of this, but not let me actually go inside!"  
"Ah have orders, ye know," Jeffery said for about the third time, "Ye can't go aboard until she's ready."  
"I'm pretty sure we both outrank you," Commander San Jall, First Officer, pointed out, "And as much as I hate acknowledging his authority..." Jall trailed off, then gazed thoughtfully out the windows for a moment before returning his attention to Jeffery, "Hmm. Never mind. Carry on,"  
And with that, he crossed his arms and took a step back, leaving Stafford pretty much on his own.  
"Thanks, ass," Stafford snapped. He turned back to Jeffery, "But he's right. I'm your Commanding Officer, and I'm-"  
"OK, not orders," Jeffery cut him off, "Then policy. And regulations. Most of them safety regulations." He dropped his voice and moved closer, "Look mate, Ah haven't been aboard yet either. And ye know what? Ah'm OK with that. Ah don't care if Sylvia fixed' them, or if the ones in this shipyard weren't affected. But these Matrian construction bots creep the bejeezus out of me. Did ye know that Shurgroe...ye remember Shurgroe? The one that keeps twitching? He found one of them wandering around in the snow! And of course ye remember how Colonel Abela had them programmed to defend her stasis pod when we found the place."  
"With lethal force, I might add," Lt Comd Riven Valtaic, Ops Officer pointed out.  
"Yeah, Chris," Lt Trish Yanick, helmswoman, looked uncomfortable, "I'm sort of with them on this one. Besides...it's not finished yet! It's not even painted!"  
It' was the Federation Starship Silverado. It' had been their home for a good four years...and then crippled for another. Drifting in orbit of Matria Prime during the Qu'Eh occupation, recovered after the launch of Haven and eventually handed over to Master Shipbuilder Dekaire for a complete and total reconstruction. It' was sitting in Haven's Number Three shipyard, supported by numerous anti-gravity fields and tractor beams now that the city had landed on one of the barren, airless moons of Matria VI. And it' was almost, nearly complete.  
"Chris...Captain," Jeffery said, "Would ye...would ye please just push the buttons? The Matrians are all watching, and ye know, it'll just be another week of testing...maybe two if we find problems. And then it'll be time for ye to do yer Captain's Tour and take her out on a shakedown cruise, OK?"  
"Yes," Queen Anselia, co-ruler of the Matrian Republic said, "We, by which We mean both myself and the rest of the guests here, would be most eager to get this underway,"  
Oh yeah. Stafford and his crew were wearing their dress whites. The King and Queen of Matria had come to 3CC, the shipyard control center, along with the Federation Ambassador to Matria Prime, the new Planetary Defence Minister, the Minister of Industry and a host of other dignitaries.  
"And I only did that as an insurance policy," Colonel Abela said acidly, "And rightly so!"  
"Please," Captain Elizabeth Simplot rolled her eyes, "Two hundred years in that tube, and the only people who tried to bother you were the people who rescued you! You just made it twice as hard for them!"  
"Why did we invite the Haven crew to this?" Stafford groaned.  
"Because it's our frickin' city!" Simplot and Abela snapped together.  
"And our shipyard did all the work," Abela added.  
"Please, sir," Lt Wyer requested politely, "Just press the buttons so we can leave." Next to him, Shrugroe twitched. Dr Annerson, the city medical officer, jabbed him with a hypospray then winked at Stafford.  
Realizing that yes, he would really like this whole business to be done with, Stafford stepped forward and reached towards the glowing holographic buttons hovering over one of the control panels.  
And pulled it away at the last minute. There was an explosion of annoyed groans from the crowd.  
"Sylvia?" Stafford said, turning to the AI's holographic avatar, "Is there...you know...anything you want to say? This is your body and all. And...um, I don't know if everybody here is aware or not, but without Sylvia fighting that Matrian virus that took out Silverado's warp core, well, the core still would have been in the ship when it exploded. We'd all be dead, and the Qu'Eh would still be running your planet. And she nearly died...or was corrupted. Or deleted. Or something." His voice suddenly rose, "So I think you ass-hats owe her a few minutes of your time, or at least some recognition!"  
Queen Anselia looked thoughtful, then nodded.  
"We agree," she said.  
"Thank you, Chris," Sylvia stepped forward and smiled nervously at the assembled dignitaries, "I actually don't have anything to say. However...I would be very grateful if you would let me press the buttons,"  
Stafford shrugged, then stopped off to one side. Sylvia moved forward, extended a hand, then brought it down on the first button. There was a soft tone, then outside the window one of the construction bots jetted into motion.  
Silverado was nearly complete. Months of intensive robotic labour had stripped her down, repaired or replaced every single component from the warp core to the screws that held the toilet paper dispensers. The only piece missing was a single hull plate. The same hull plate, it fact, that had been the first to be cut out when the reconstruction had begun. Now, the bot pressed the plate back into place and activated its welding arm. With four neat, perfect strokes it welded the plate back into place.  
There was polite applause from the VIPs. Then, with a nod from Jeffery, Sylvia hit the second button. There was another tone then dozens of bots burst into motion, each holding a paint sprayer. "This part's gonna take a while, folks," Major Dekaire spoke up, "During this final week, the bots will repaint the ship, add the Federation colours, the name and registry and such. During that time my team and I will conduct final testing. We look forward to hosting you all here for the launch next week,"  
"In the meantime," Colonel Abela stepped forward, "I believe the Matrian Arms has suites waiting for you?"  
"Oh, thank you," Queen Anselia said, "But we, meaning all of us, will be heading back to Matria Prime. Perhaps once you have the lake and the city atmosphere fully replenished We...meaning at least Myself...will come for a visit,"  
"Ah, of course, your Highness," Abela did not look pleased.  
"But before We leave, We would like a...private moment...with Captain Stafford," Anselia gave Stafford a hungry look that left little room for interpretation.  
"Dear Lord, I hope she means We' as in just her royal self'," Stafford muttered to Jall. Wowryk overheard and jammed an elbow into his kidney.  
"Have fun," Jall said, "We're going to the steak...um...to that place," he glanced at Abela and Simplot, "Where we eat."  
Colonel Abela knew about the secret Silverado Steakhouse that they'd opened up off the shipyard. So did Captain Simplot. But Abela pretended not to know, as a favour to the crew that had rescued her and launched her city. Otherwise there would be permits and fuss with the Matrian Council over the opening of a business at a time when the city was still off-limits to most. Simplot also knew because her lazy, obnoxious Chief of Security had shown it to her when he was trying to get under her pants. She didn't tell Abela because she didn't want it closed and shut down. Abela didn't tell Simplot she knew about it because it would mean admitting that she was capable of bending the rules once in a while.  
Not the most trusting of relationships.  
"Yeah," Stafford said, looking at Abela and Simplot as they both tried hard to look innocent, "I'll see you there."

The next day wasn't exactly the weekend...but it was two days off for most of the Silverado officers. The work cycle aboard Haven had been a bit hectic...or not, depending on what stage the ship reconstruction was at and whether or not there was a crisis happening at the time. And with the city now a runabout trip away from Matria Prime instead of a convenient transporter beam, it was no longer practical to simply pop down to the planet for an evening or afternoon. No, now they had to arrange a runabout, get departure clearance, fly across a good sized chunk of the Matrian solar system, arrange arrival clearance, land the thing or arrange an orbit and beam down.  
Bottom line, it wasn't worth making the trip for anything less than a day. And they had a few days off while they waited for the shipyard crew and the bots to finish working on the ship.  
"Sorry I'm late," Stafford said, stepping aboard the runabout Asessippi. The Asessippi had been with Silverado since she'd been launched...well, not the first time, but after she'd been pulled out of the scrap heap and launched with her current crew. And for some reason, she'd been the runabout the senior staff had claimed for their trips to Matria Prime, leaving the Niagara to the Beta shift and the four unnamed runabouts to the rest of the crew.  
"It's OK," Wowryk said from the side console, "Sem doesn't finish his shift at the clinic for two more hours,"  
"No, it's NOT OK!" Yanick corrected her from the helm, "It's going to take almost two hours to get there! And do you know how unhealthy it is for babies to be stuck indoors all day? Until they get the air and water back in Haven's dome, the planet is the only place I can take Allona!"  
Stafford opened his mouth...paused and looked over to Wowryk. She gave her head a tiny shake, probably indicating that yes, she had already mentioned that exposing babies to alien environments wasn't exactly the same as exposing them to the environment of their home-world. And no, Yanick wasn't receptive to the information.  
"Where is the little, um, darling?" he asked.  
"In the back, puking into my bag of EXPENSIVE DESIGNER CLOTHS!" Jall announced loudly, storming in from the rear compartment.  
"I told T'Parief where the puke rag was!" Yanick objected "I am sure you did," Jall grumbled, flopping into the co-pilot seat. He turned to Stafford, "Why are you coming to the planet anyway? I'm trying to get drunk. And laid. Yanick and T'Parief are taking their kid down for the weekend and Wowryk, as much as I think it's all a trick, is spending a romantic evening at a spa with her boy-toy,"  
"It's not romance, it's a pore cleansing!" Wowryk said.  
"So it's just going to be you...and a man...in fuzzy robes and towels all weekend?" Stafford asked carefully.  
"If you picture it, I will ensure you associate the image with pain everlasting," Wowryk said pleasantly.  
"I'm not...I'm not..." Stafford bit his lip, then looked at the floor. "OK," he said, very softly, "So I pictured it."  
"Hmm," Wowryk waiting until he looked up, then held up a padd. Stafford's eyes widened for a moment, then they crossed and he fell to the deck.  
Yanick jumped to her feet.  
"What did you show him!" she demanded.  
"Jall's 'Guy-dar Galactic' profile," Wowryk smirked.  
"HEY!" Jall snapped, "That's private!"  
"Please," Wowryk waved him away, "It's visible to any homosexual mammal within half a light-year,"  
Yanick glanced at the padd.  
"Really? You're into-"  
Jall grabbed the padd, tossed it to the deck and crushed it beneath one boot.  
"Sometimes you have to have a separation between work life and home life," he said.  
"Jeffery to Stafford," Wowryk, Jall and Yanick all exchanged glances. Stafford was still on the deck, rubbing his eyes and twitching.  
"You knocked him out," Jall said pointedly to Wowryk. Yanick shrugged.  
"Simon, this is Noel. The Captain is...is currently recovering from a minor neural shock. Is this urgent?"  
"Uh, aye. It may be. Ah need to see him before he leaves for Matria Prime,"  
"Too easy," Jall jumped out of his seat. He grabbed Stafford under the armpits, dragged him out the runabout hatch and left him on the hanger deck.  
"OK," he said, slightly out of breath, "Tell Jeffery he'll meet him in the hanger. Let's go."  
Wowryk was about to protest, but the chrono on the panel caught her eye.  
"Drat, now we actually are running behind!" she said, "Simon, the Captain is in the hanger. Come get him, Wowryk out,"  
Yanick tapped in the departure sequence the second they had clearance from HCC. As the runabout departed, leaving Stafford on the deck, Jall crossed his arms.  
"It wasn't THAT bad of a photo!' he said.

It wasn't exactly a hop, skip and a jump over to Matria Prime. But when you're travelling at a third the speed of light, it doesn't exactly take that long either.  
"We're approaching the landing co-ordinates," Yanick announced from the helm, "I think,"  
"You think?" T'Parief asked, tensing up as he became alert to a possible threat. In his arms, Allona started pawing at his com-badge.  
"No, my spawn," he cooed, "If you open a channel to the Captain again, he will be most displeased. I would hate to have to kill him for speaking harshly at you,"  
Jall cleared his throat, but after a moment's thought decided to let the comment pass.  
"What's the matter, Trish?" Wowryk asked, "Aren't we at Nashawa yet?"  
"I'm following the landing beacon for the Nashawa city spaceport," Yanick said, "But...there's no city! We're in the middle of the ocean!"  
"Nashawa is an underwater city," Jall explained, "It was abandoned early in the Gender Wars, so it's taken the Matrians a little while to find it and get it up and running,"  
"You never told me the city we were going to was underwater!" Yanick snapped, "How am I supposed to take Allona outside if we're in a dome under hundreds of meters of ocean!"  
"Oh, you can't. There's no dome. The buildings are water-tight," Jall shrugged.  
"So we've gone from a space station to a submarine! San, you are such an asshole!"  
"There's still the spaceport!" Jall pointed out the window at the rapidly approaching tower, "See? I think there's a small park or something on top. Like the towers in Haven,"  
"Ohhhh!" Yanick seethed.

The landed on a fairly standard docking pad, pretty much a box cut into the side of the tower, one of hundreds. The lowest, widest level of the floating spaceport had a number of larger landing pads. Even as they watched, a commercial sub-orbital transport arrived with a flash of breaking thrusters and a dull, soft thump. The edge of the structure was lined with docks, and Jall informed them that there was a regular shuttle service to the mainland, although the closest land city was a good three hours away. Yanick might have jabbed an elbow in his kidney at that, but he sure as hell wasn't saying anything about it. They met Dr Darik near the broad double doors that proclaimed 'To Nashawa' in several Matrian scripts. A hastily made sign underneath had the Federation Standard translation.  
"Sem," Wowryk said happily, reaching out to grasp his hands in hers briefly.  
"Noel," he smiled back, "Blessed day,"  
"OK, we're running on a timeline here," Jall said guiding the group down the passageway. Windows ran along one side of the downward sloping corridor, and within seconds the only light was that which filtered in through the seawater outside. They approached a large chamber ringed with large elevators, each looking like they could hold two dozen people comfortably.  
"Hmmm," Wowryk said, looking over Darik's shoulder at an electronic pamphlet as they filed into the elevator, "It says that although the spaceport is a new construction, the city itself is nearly four hundred years old. Parts of it, anyway,"  
"Did you know," Jall spoke up, "That Nashawa is actually really close to the Earth Arabic word 'Nashwa', which in English is that thing where God comes down and takes everybody to Heaven, except for anybody who's on the naughty list."  
"Oh, you mean the Rapt-" Wowryk was cut off by a loud bell-like tone. There was a slight jolt, then the elevator began descending, the transparent walls growing darker as the light above was diffused by the water.  
"Ladies and gentlemen, gentleman and ladies," an androgynous voice spoke over the speakers, "Welcome. You are about to experience one of the wonders of the Old Matrian world! Centuries ago, our people spread far across this world and beyond it. Outposts throughout our solar system, colonies on other worlds, even embassies and small communities amongst our neighbours. And the more our ancestors saw of the worlds around us, the more they came to cherish the homeworld. The Old Matrians looked in dismay as their cities continued to spread, consuming the farmland that fed them, the rivers that slacked their thirst, the plains and parkland that supported not only them, but the tens of thousands of species of wildlife with whom we share this world. And so they began to expand elsewhere. The city of Wetria, floating along the waves. The cities of Old Matronus and now Haven, where our people may live among the stars. Cities on and beneath the water, in the inhospitable desert, even in the sky."  
"Well that attitude sure didn't last long," Yanick rolled her eyes. Despite the dark look from a nearby Matrian couple, she had a point. The Gender Wars had done a pretty good job of trashing large swaths of the planet. Outside the elevator it was almost pitch black. There was a slight sensation of motion and Jall realized the lift was moving laterally as well as vertically.  
"And now, thanks to a joint venture between the Government of Matria and M'Lady's Historic Preservation Society, we are pleased to welcome you to the first of those cities designed to lessen our impact on our world. A true gem, hidden between the waves. We are pleased to welcome you...to Nashawa!"  
Jall had seen other cities on other worlds, but he had to admit it was an impressive introduction. As the voice finished, the lift cleared an outcropping of rock and the city abruptly came into view. It was eerily similar to Haven's domed city, with a cluster of huge towers dead center and smaller clusters of towers arranged around it in a circle. As promised there was no dome, with the brightly lit windows shining directly into the depths of the ocean. Searchlights waved from several points around the city, and Jall was pretty sure there was an honest-to-god WHALE casually drifting alongside the outer city buildings. The elevator...or submarine or whatever it was, was bringing them towards a brightly lit building at the very edge of the city.  
"We hope your enjoy your stay in Nashawa. Remember to visit the newly-opened M'Lady's Emporium, conveniently located near the disembarkation room, for all your shopping and comfort needs! And of course, M'Lady's Historic Tours will ensure you see every important sight there is to see!"  
"And just like that, the magic is ruined," Jall sighed, "Yay, commercialism."  
They emerged into a large chamber with a domed, transparent ceiling. A wet sound from Allona's diaper convinced Yanick and T'Parief that they needed to find their hotel posthaste, and Wowryk and Darik didn't want to be late for their first spa treatment.  
Leaving Jall standing all by himself in the middle of the sparsely crowded chamber.  
"I guess I'll just...explore?" he asked nobody in particular.

Jall's explorations got him as far as a bar tucked into one side of the Nashawa Transit Terminal. It was dimly lit and sported floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out into the ocean depths beyond the city. There wasn't actually much to see, just gently undulating ocean floor dimly lit by the city lights. The whale he'd seen earlier had drifted slowly by as he drank his second drink, and the huge mammal (Fish? This was an alien planet after all...) was slowly gliding past the guidance tracks for the elevators that ran non-stop between the building and the Starport on the ocean surface.  
"Another, sir?" the sturdily built, female bartender asked.  
"I'll have one of those blue things," he said, pointing at a bottle on display.  
The bartender glanced at something.  
"You can't," she said.  
"Why not? I'm pretty sure I've had it before!" Jall asked.  
With a look of annoyance, the bartender pulled a padd out from under the bar and spun it so he could see.  
"It's for aliens who have copper-based blood. If you drink it, you'll be lucky if you only get diarrhoea. More likely you'll have permanent liver damage."  
"Oh." Jall said quietly, eyes wide.  
"Yeah, since they've started opening up the planet to alien tourism, they've made all of us study that sort of thing," the bartender shrugged, "The things you learn! By the way, if you really DID drink this stuff before, you should get yourself checked. How about another..." she paused, glancing at his tab, "chocolate martini? What kind of prissy man-drink is...uh...one chocolate martini, coming up. On the house."  
She turned and started pulling bottles off the shelf. All replicated, most likely. Getting real Terran alcohol this far out was almost impossible. But another thing that humans and Matrians had in common was an appreciation for the art of mixology. But Jall wasn't paying much attention to the way she artfully tossed the bottles around as she began to prepare the drink.  
"You see that?" Jall said to the whale now drifting back across the big windows, "No matter how far you go, you end up right back where you started. In a historic underwater city, drinking cheap booze and talking to a whale."  
Why was he sitting here in what was basically an airport bar when there was an entire city to be discovered? He'd chosen this place, after all. He knew that there were excellent night clubs further in the city, he had a reservation at a very nice hotel within easy stumbling distance from the entertainment district, and his chances of getting lucky were good.  
"Thanks," he said as the bartender handed him his drink. He took a sip, but made no move to depart.  
It didn't help that he'd come to the city with two couples. Yanick, T'Parief, Wowryk and Darik had all run off to do their couple-type things, leaving him pretty much on his own. At least if Stafford had been around, there would have been somebody around looking even more pathetic than him.  
More pathetic? He wasn't pathetic at all! He was fabulous! He did what he wanted, when he wanted, with whom he wanted and to hell with whoever didn't like it!  
"That's right, Suzy!" he said, raising the glass to the window, "To hell with them!"  
And yet, here he was. Still talking to a whale. Whom he had apparently named Suzy.  
If he hadn't been staring out at the whale he would have missed it. Almost missed it as it was. But just beneath Suzy's flank was a small submersible. It had no running lights, and without the whale there to draw his eye he never would have noticed it. But the sub was heading towards a nearby cluster of windowless buildings.  
Maybe this was something he should check out? He contemplated his half-full drink.  
Maybe it could wait a little while.

Wowryk and Darik arrived at their hotel, a rather exclusive affair in the heart of the city. They emerged from a nicely appointed underground tunnel and into a huge lobby. Narrow windows started at the floor and ran to the edge of the domed ceiling. The dome was not transparent, fortunately, and whoever had designed the place must have realized that as nice as the ocean view was, it was also moderately terrifying to have so many tons of ocean directly overhead. Instead the ceiling was inlaid was a pattern of supports, lit by dozens of chandeliers that looked like octopi or squid preparing for an attack. In retrospect, Wowryk wasn't sure that was any better than the tons of ocean. But her real surprise was waiting for them at the front desk.  
"Dr Wowryk, Dr Darik," the receptionist gave a professional smile, "Your suite is ready, and may I say what an honour it is to have you staying with us at Nashawa Peaks! Did you know that Naksawa is very close to an Earth word that, in your own tongue, means-"  
"Yes, thank you," Wowryk found herself checking the young man for the telltale scar of a removed Qu'Eh implant. There wasn't one, so what seemed like Qu'Eh Friendly Banter was probably just another brand of forced corporate cheer.  
"Did we not request separate rooms?" Darik pointed out, looking somewhat worried.  
Wowryk reviewed what the receptionist had said.  
"We did," she nodded.  
"Yes," the receptionist agreed, "Two of our more modest, though still comfortable rooms. And our manager was quite adamant that the Savior of Matria Prime deserved nothing less than our finest accommodations! At no additional charge, of course. So our Royalty Suite is at your disposal, and should you wish to travel in style you are on our VIP list for priority access to our travel pods,"  
"That's really not necessary," Wowryk said, her eyes twitching nervously towards Darik. The shorter Matrian male didn't seem to know what to say.  
"It is," the receptionist said gravely. She lowered her voice, "The treatment those of us in the hospital industry suffered at the hands of the Qu'Eh...let us not speak of it."  
Wowryk gulped. There was no way she could turn down such sincere gratitude. But although she and Darik had been...socializing...for months now, the thought of sharing a room was more than a bit unnerving.  
"Thank you," she finally said, reaching out to accept the key-card.

"WAAAAAHHHHHHH!"  
"Have you not fed her enough?" T'Parief asked, his voice somewhat harsher than he intended.  
"I did! She drained both sides, OK?" Yanick shot back, "She's not hungry!"  
"She did not vomit, therefore she was not full,"  
"She doesn't have to puke every time she finishes eating!"  
"But she ceases her cries when she does."  
"It's not her diaper," Yanick said, one hand checking again. Much to Allona's annoyance, "And she doesn't feel...bloaty..."  
"Would sir and madam care to complete their check-in?" the tall, broad-shouldered woman behind the hotel reception desk asked. Behind them, a line was starting to form.  
"Pari?" Yanick asked.  
"I thought we selected this place because it was 'family friendly'?" T'Parief grumbled.  
"WAAAHHHH!"  
"OK, that one wasn't Allona," Yanick said.  
"WAAAHHHH!"  
They slowly turned. Half the couples in line behind them were also carting infants of various ages.  
"It is," the receptionist said with a thin smile, "But we still have work to do. Shall we?"  
"I hope the walls are thick," Yanick said.

Wowryk and Darik eyed the Royal Suite. They were clearly on an upper level as their ceiling had yet another of those stupid, clear domes that reminded you just how easily you could be killed in the event something went wrong. Two open doors on opposite sides of the sitting room led to what were presumably bedrooms, while three more led to the bathroom and what would normally be considered a solarium. Except this one looked into the ocean.  
Darik immediately began moving to the right side bedroom.  
"I know," he said, "We'd already discussed the rooms thing. And I agree, there is no reason for us to rush into physical things, or make things uncomfortable by leaving our feelings unsaid. I'm sure we can share the bathroom without...never mind. I have an en-suite. You likely do as well. I'm going to get changed, then maybe we can go get dinner?"  
And suddenly Wowryk relaxed. This was why she was still seeing Darik after a few months of dinners, evenings out and many, many written messages during the Kallar IV mission. They just...meshed. Their talk about whether to book one room or two at the hotel had been less than two minutes long, with both of them agreeing that they weren't comfortable getting physical yet. No strain, no pressure. No chaos.  
She turned to her room and saw that yes, in addition to the king-sized bed, thick rugs and polished stone support columns there was indeed a door leading off to her own bathroom. A huge, sunken tub gurgled away, surrounded by a wrap-around window looking (surprise) outside. Some sort of starfish-analogue had glued itself to the window. As she watched, twin eye-stalks emerged regarded her briefly, then disappeared.  
Deciding she really didn't care if an alien sea bug watched her shower, Wowryk disrobed and stepped into the large shower enclosure off to one side.  
Time for a pleasant, relaxing evening!

"WAAAAHHHHH!"  
This wasn't one infant crying. This was not the sound of Allona expressing her displeasure with some aspect of her new existence. This was a chorus. A cacophony. This was the sound of dozens of couples with babies eating in a family-friendly restaurant. "Why couldn't they have sonic filters?" Yanick groaned, "Any why are there so many of them?"  
"The Matrians are trying to stabilize their population," T'Parief said, one hand cradling Allona while the other plugged one of his ears, "It is in the tactical briefing. Matria is at higher risk of inadvertent civilian casualties due to the growing number of creches and day-cares,"  
"How much bottled breast milk did we bring?" Yanick asked.  
"Six bottles, plus a replicator chip for an acceptable formula,"  
"Good," Yanick grabbed his drink and swallowed it in one gulp.  
"Patricia!" T'Parief straightened in shock.  
"Pari, this is a holiday. A very, very noisy holiday. And I need to relax. And I've been so careful about drinking, but this is why we brought the bottled stuff anyway, and I still have the neutralizing hypo Noel gave me just in case, and I just I need to relax!"  
"Of course, but that drink contains an ingredient that-"  
"That what?" Yanick cut him off, "Pari, we had the bio-compatibility talk with Noel. Nothing you eat or drink can kill me, the worse it could do is make me wish I was dead for a day or so. And I already WISH THAT!" she glared at a nearby couple with three screaming infants. They didn't even notice.  
"But-"  
"NO!" Yanick cut him off as the waiter dropped off another drink. She gulped that one too.  
She looked at him for a moment, then wobbled a bit on her seat.  
"Am I going to wish I was dead tomorrow?" she asked, suddenly very calm.  
"No," T'Parief said crossly, "But it is unlikely you will remember anything. I believe the last time you had Andorian cider, you blacked out.  
"Oh." Yanick looked thoughtful for a moment. "I wonder what Jall is doing?"  
T'Parief gestured for the bill.  
"Patricia, you may go and find out. But I do not wish to babysit three infants tonight. I will take our daughter on a walk in the city,"  
"Pari," Yanick suddenly looked contrite, "I'm sorry. I don't want us to-"  
"Jall is far better suited to handling you in this state," T'Parief said curtly, "And you clearly have some stress you need to relieve. Now go,"  
"I...OK," Yanick gave Allona a kiss on the forehead, then started walking towards the nearest transport terminal. She looked back, but T'Parief had already paid the bill and was walking towards an empty section of enclosed underwater street, their daughter cradled in one huge arm.  
Maybe...maybe she needed this. Maybe after the strain and stress of living with an infant for the past several months, it would be good for her to get out and relax a little.  
But then why was she the one looking back, while T'Parief simply walked on?

"Why yes, I will have another glass of wine, thank you," Wowryk said pleasantly. It was a bit late for a full spa treatment, but she and Darik had still gone down to fully-featured spa attached to their hotel and started off the trip the right way. Wowryk was floating near one side of a large, brightly colour pool of mineral water. Between the buoyancy of the water and a series of carefully positioned water jets, she felt exactly as if she were reclining in a lounge chair. The small, floating drink robot next to her was careful to keep her wine within arm reach, except when it popped out of the water and flew over to the service window to retrieve another. A few feet away, Darik was enjoying a similar experience.  
"A third glass Noel?" he asked.  
"Why not?" she asked, "I can't remember the last time I've had such a pleasant evening!"  
"Good point," Darik grinned, "I'll have another, as well," he informed his own robot/table/waiter.  
Neither of them noticed the shadow behind the service window. A curved, humanoid shadow...somewhat out of place among the otherwise robotic service kitchen. Maybe it was a hotel employee, making sure things were running smoothly. Somebody from the nicer, organic-staffed kitchens that serviced the restaurant and prepared the room service meals.  
But as a small drop of liquid was added to each of their drinks, those maybes disappeared pretty quickly. The robot picked up the drink and flew back to Wowryk.  
"I don't know what this wine is," she said, taking as large a sip as was lady-like, "But it's really, really good,"

Half an hour later, Wowryk was stumbling back towards her room. Darik had gone on ahead, having claimed to suddenly be really tired. Wowryk had wanted to take some extra time in the hot, steamy shower attached to the spa pool and had told him to go ahead and get comfortable in the room.  
And that's when things went blurry.  
There was a series of vague impressions. Somebody was grabbing her by the shoulders. Somebody was talking to her, asking her about things? Then a crash, a whirlwind of movement. Hallways? People? Was that no, she couldn't tell.  
Then everything went black.

Several hours later the next morning, in fact. Yup, this is one of those things where we jump forward, then our heros have to reconstruct what happened. And no, it's too late to change it. So there ya go

"You understand your mission?" Shadowy Mystery Villian #1 said to Shadowy Mystery Henchman #1.  
"I do," SMH1 replied, "Find the intoxicated Starfleet Officer, the one that stole the key,"  
"Exactly!"  
"Uh, not to question your abilities," SMH1 ducked her head respectfully, "But are you sure it was the Starfleeter? Maybe the key is just in your other pair of pants?"  
"I already checked them!" SMV1 waved a hand, "It's not there. And the only clues the guards found was this!" He held out a standard-issue Starfleet rank pip. "And this," he gestured to the table where a small pile of broken glass pieces sat, "We couldn't get a DNA sample, but it's covered in alcohol traces, and whoever it was was obviously drunk. Why else would they bring their drink with them to steal the key? And rescue Wowryk? Besides, we know she was travelling with others from Silverado SOMEBODY just didn't think they were important enough to keep tabs on!"  
"Ahhh ahem " SMH1 cleared his throat.  
"YES I KNOW THAT SOMEONE WAS ME!" SMV1 snapped, "And clearly I regret that error, so let's move on!"  
"It could be part of a brilliant deception plan," SMH1 pointed out.  
"Or he or she is an idiot," SMV1 replied, "From what we have seen from both the Silverado crew and the new Haven crew, I am inclined to believe the latter. Now go. Find the key!"

Nearby...

Wowryk groaned. There was a wave of dizziness, then she reached to pull the covers around her head.  
There were no covers. No sheets, for that matter. And the mattress was hard as a...wait a minute! Why was she lying on the ground?  
She forced her eyes open and realized that not only was she on a hard surface, but she was apparently in an alley. Or at least some sort of enclosed access space that led between two of Nashawa's underwater buildings. She'd been huddled behind a pair of heavy conduits...power conduits most likely, judging from the heat then emanated off them. Had she curled up here for warmth? But how had she gotten here? Where was Darik? Why did she have this nagging sense that she'd forgotten something?  
And where the heck could she get a glass of water?  
She reached for her comm-badge, only to find a torn, ragged patch where it had been.  
Not a good sign.  
OK, no problem. She was an experienced, Starfleet officer lost in a strange but friendly alien city with no means of communication. "Etipa haku dem?" a voice asked Wowryk turned to find a somewhat elderly Matrian man smiling at her.  
"Dem hata ekki?' he asked, again giving her a friendly smile.  
"Oh no," Wowryk groaned. Her universal translator was part of the comm-badge! And with no other Starfleet personnel around, there was no possible way for her to talk to any of the Matrians! Unless one of them had a translator...which this gentleman apparently didn't.  
Things just got way more difficult.

Jall awoke with a start. He sat up, only to fall back down as his head began to throb.  
"Oh, what did I do last night?" he groaned.  
"You don't remember?" a female voice asked next to him.  
Jall turned, his eyes widening in shock. Next to him was the bartender from the bar the night before. And if the underwear hanging off the edge of an end table were any indication, she was probably as naked as he was.  
"Oh, geez," Jall groaned, pulling the blanket up over his head. Bad move. She was under there, too. And she was definitely as naked as he was; her womanhood in full view. He wasn't sure, but it might have even said hello and smiled at him.  
"Excuse me," he gulped, turning over in an effort to flee the bed, only to crash into a very solid mass.  
"Gyuh'cha!" complained a tired, basso voice, "SoS jIQong Hoch nI' law' vIneH!"  
Jall blinked, then turned back to the bartender.  
"Where the hell did we find a Klingon?" he demanded.  
"I have no clue," the bartender shrugged, "Things get a bit hazy after we left the bar,"  
"I have to-" Jall was cut off as a thick, muscular arm wrapped around him and pinned him in place.  
"Seriously? I'm coming off a black-out drunk with a naked woman in an underwater alien city and the mystery Klingon wants to CUDDLE? Let me go!"  
"Da'ol poH cha'DIch. DaH 'uch reH!"  
"I don't know how you two still have the energy for that," the bartender said, getting out of bed, "Look, I'll go order some breakfast while you...finish."  
"No, wait!" Jall tried to squirm again, but to no avail. As he did so, he noticed something on his arm.  
"What the..." It appeared to be some sort of...command sequence? The Matrian characters were scrawled in some sort of ink and were barely legible, but he recognized some of them as program code from his work with Matrian technology. Something to do with...  
His head throbbed again. Whatever this was, it felt like it was really important. But how on earth could he concentrate with a throbbing in his head and an apparently randy Klingon who couldn't speak Standard?  
"Look, I'm flattered, but I really don't have time for this!" Jall complained.

Yanick awoke to silence. Peaceful, blessed silence.  
She opened her eyes and sat up in the bed. OK, some water would be nice. But otherwise she felt OK. T'Parief was next to her, sleeping on his stomach. His tail was stretched out between his legs and dangled limply towards the floor, which was an improvement over sticking straight up and turning the comforter into a tent. She could never stay warm when that happened.  
Allona...where was Allona?  
Yanick suddenly panicked. The infant had awoken them every morning for the past month with her bellows. If she was quiet today...  
"Allona!" Yanick jumped out of the bed in their hotel room and bolted for the small port-a-crib they'd brought, terrified that she'd find-  
Allona was fine, sleeping peacefully, what must be a Matrian pacifier tucked between her lips.  
"What is it?" T'Parief barked, having come awake immediately at her shout of alarm.  
"I...nothing," Yanick said, "Go back to sleep,"  
"When did you get in?" he asked.  
"I'm...I'm not sure," she said, "Maybe Jall knows,"  
She moved to the nightstand to find her comm-badge but instead found a note.  
FIND WOWRYK. The words were scrawled in messy, jagged Standard letters. The note was crumpled, one corner stained with something purple.  
Yanick grabbed her comm-badge.  
"Trish to Noel," she said, giving it a squeeze.  
No reply.  
"Uh-oh,"  
"Jall to Yanick," the badge suddenly chirped at her.  
"Yanick...oh...ow," Yanick lowered her voice, "Yanick here. San, what the hell did we do last night?"  
"I don't know. But I don't feel good...hey, will you quit it? I can't handle another round this morning!" Jall replied.  
"Uh...what?"  
"Did you know there were Klingons on Matria?" Jall asked.  
"Well, when I was Chris' secretary or whatever we had a bunch of diplomatic types come in and...Jall...did you pick up a Klingon?"  
"I don't want to talk about it," Jall said, "Look, I need breakfast. I need a big pile of greasy hangover food and about a gallon of coffee. There's a place not far from you that advertises Terran food. Meet me there?"  
Across the room, T'Parief made a shooing gesture at her.  
"Yes but," she looked back to the note, "have you seen Noel? She's not answering her comm-badge,"  
"She's probably at the spa with her new man," Jall replied, "I don't think comm-badges go with spa robes. Just meet me at the restaurant. Jall out."  
Yanick stared at the note and tried hailing Wowryk again. Nothing.  
"Do you want me gone, or something?" she asked, turning to T'Parief. He'd lifted Allona out of her crib and was rocking her gently. She was still sound asleep.  
T'Parief's red eyes turned to her. She could see that flash of confusion followed by irritation, that expression he got anytime she did something that (in his mind) a Klingon/Andorian/Gorn/Parian female wouldn't do.  
"I enjoyed the quiet time with our spawn last night," he said, "We've had a lot of time together recently, in very close quarters after the Kallar mission. I think spending time with your...friends...would be good for us. Get us back into our routine."  
With that, he turned back to Allona.  
Yanick left.

Jall was sipping a cup of replicated Terran coffee when she found him at the restaurant. The restaurant was (surprise) under a glass dome that extended out from the side of one of the broad downtown towers of the city. A group of small, crab-like creatures had established a colony on one of the transparisteel windows near their table. Sipping might not have been the right word for what Jall was doing to the coffee, Yanick realized as she drew closer. Gulping might be more accurate. Guzzling would not be completely off the mark. Making out with the coffee cup would have been a colourful but accurate way to describe what was happening.  
All was forgiven when Yanick saw that there was a second cup set out for her, along with a carafe of steaming, black brew.  
"Oh God, yes," Yanick groaned, plunking into the seat, grabbing the cup and taking a long swing. It was replicated, but it must have been a good pattern. She could barely tell. "I'm never doing that again,"  
"Me neither," Jall agreed.  
"I could really use one of the hypos Noel keeps packed in her med-kit," Yanick said. She pulled out the note and waved it in Jall's face, "Probably why I left myself a note to find her."  
"Clever," Jall nodded. The auto-waiter, a small service robot, rolled up and took their orders. A few minutes later it rolled back with two mostly replicated breakfasts.  
"I'm so glad they got decent replicator patterns when they started getting ready for Federation visitors," Jall said, diving into a pile of replicated eggs, replicated bacon and some sort of Matrian fruit cup, "I hate it when an entire planet takes their replicator pattern from some cheap dive."  
"Didn't we help the Matrians with that stuff?" Yanick asked, "I seem to remember you debating whether Canadian or American bacon was better for a hangover?"  
"Then yay for us," Jall said, teasing a strip of bacon out from under his eggs.  
"Lieutenant Yanick! Lt Commander Jall! Thank the-"  
Dr. Darik rushed into the restaurant, spotted the two of them and had barely taken two steps their way when the auto-waiter rolled into his path. He stumbled forward-  
-and two small darts appeared in the middle of his back. He caught his balance, stared blankly at Jall and Yanick for a moment, then collapsed to the deck.  
"Dr Sem!" Yanick cried, dropping down to check the downed Matrian just as another dart zipped over her head and bounced off the window with a sharp 'PLINK'! Jall had grabbed his plate, dumping the remains of his breakfast on his lap as he held it up like a tiny shield. One dart bounced off the plate, a second missed him and bounced off the window.  
"Did you bring a phaser?" Jall snapped. Well, sort of snapped. It was a tired, why are we doing this so early in the morning' sort of snap.  
"No! I came for BREAKFAST not a fight!" Yanick yelled. She'd reached Darik and determined that he was alive but unconscious. "Oh Oh bad Trish. No more yelling."  
"So we're back to this then," Jall sighed. He saw a flash of movement, grabbed the coffee carafe and threw it as hard as he could. The was a loud crash as the glass shattered, then shouts of pain as scalding hot coffee splattered their assailant.  
With a loud beeping, three more auto-waiters popped out of nowhere and converged on the sound and resulting mess. Yanick caught a glimpse of a Matrian female trying to yank off a dark tunic soaked with coffee just before stumbling on a bot as it attempted to clean up the mess. Then Jall was pushing her towards the door and grabbing Darik in a fireman carry. Two more darts flew their way, one missing and the other landing in Darik's left buttock instead of Jall's back.  
"You did you piss off last night!?" Yanick demanded.  
"F**ked if I know!" Jall shot back. He punched the door panel on the way out, a sizzle of sparks hopefully meaning they'd have enough time to escape, "Come on , we need to find Wowryk!"  
They ran.

Wowryk walked unsteadily along the corridor leading to her hotel. She actually wasn't all that far, luckily, and the Nashawa transit system seemed to understand the hotel name without the need for translation. The staff all smiled pleasantly, and a few said the Matrian word for 'hello' as she walked in. She just smiled, nodded, and made her way towards the lift.  
As she entered, a bell-boy brushed against her and she felt a small scrap of paper pressed into her palm. She turned, but the small figure was already rushing down the lobby.  
Worried now, Wowryk waited for the doors to close before looking at the parchment.  
It looked like somebody had tried to write in Standard with an honest-to God pencil. The letters were malformed, barely legible. And from the grammar, she suspected the writer was either trying to write without the aid of translator software, or was an idiot.  
"System computational listened into," Wowryk read aloud, squinting at the messed up letters, "Be cautioned of MALADY. Away from stay room yours."  
The elevator doors opened and Wowry automatically stepped out and turned towards her suite when the content of the note bounced through the overtired and somewhat tangled bumps of her brain to scramble into their proper order and meaning.

The computer system has been tapped.  
Beware of MALADY.  
Stay away from your room.

Wowryk paused. The note was clearly a warning. Somebody thought that the computer system had been bugged and that someone, or some evil organization from the sounds of it, was after her. Odds were good this was some sort of stupid hoax. Or one of Jall's pranks. Or maybe some over-eager Matrian celebrity stalker.  
But then why the hell was she coming off a blank-out night of sleeping in an alley after three glasses of relatively weak wine?  
Wowryk suddenly had a very strong urge to aim a medical tricorder at herself. Of course, the only tricorder she had was in her med-kit, which was in her room. Where she had been told not to go.  
She could try to find Yanick, T'Parief or Jall, but without a comm-badge that would be hard. She could find a public comm station and try to call for help, but she couldn't read or operate the systems in Matrian. Haven had been setup to work with multiple races and languages, but she hadn't seen that in Nashawa yet.  
The elevator chimed. Wowryk dove into a small side corridor, holding back a wince as her head throbbed and her world spun. She managed to find a small space behind a wall support just as two Matrian women in form-fitting, nondescript outfits walked past. They said nothing, merely walked to Wowryk's room and attached a device to the door panel. After a moment, the doors hissed open.  
One of the women went inside, the other leaned against the wall near the door, trying to look casual. She had a full view of the elevator.  
Wowryk was trapped.  
Well crap.  
She took a quick inventory. She had no tricorder, no comm-badge, no weapon. She had her shoes, her civilian cloths and a rather stylish hairpin that she'd found in a shop on Waystation. The pin was an Andorian piece.  
Seized by inspiration, Wowryk pulled the pin out of her hair and examined it more closely. Those Andorians couldn't build a table without hiding some kind of weapon or assassination device in it, surely a hairpin would have a poison blade, or a hidden garrotte wire or something!  
After several moments of examination, Wowryk had to conclude that not only was it just a hairpin, but it wasn't even really Andorian. A tiny 'Made on Epsilon Indi II' stamp identified it as a cheap knock-off.  
Wowryk stayed in her hiding place for several minutes, wondering what the heck a pair of Matrians would want from her room. Were they fans? Or stalkers?  
She peered carefully around the corner, The Matrian standing guard had a hand resting casually on a small weapon strapped to her hip. Through the open door, Wowryk could hear the sound of the other guard going through drawers, searching for something.  
Definitely not fans.

"Almost there," Yanick said, waiting as the elevator climbed to the top floor of Nashawa Peaks.  
"Good, because this guy is heavy and I'm still hung over," Jall said, grunting as he adjusted Darik's weight across his shoulders again. The doors hissed open and Yanick stepped out, only to jump back as she saw a Matrian woman down the hall pulling a weapon out of a holster! Two more of those cursed darts hissed by, embedding themselves in the far wall. The woman rushed towards them, firing again. Yanick was about to jam her finger down on the 'door close' button when a dark-haired blur rushed at the woman from behind, knocking her to the floor. There was a blur as Wowryk aimed a quick blow at the base of the Matrian's skull, knocking her out.  
"Noel!" Yanick exclaimed, "How did you..."  
"Had to do the same thing to Crewman Shwaluk when he accidentally sat on a hypospray full of adrenalin," Wowryk said. She groaned, putting one hand to her temples, "And it feels like somebody did it to me...oh no!"  
She turned and Yanick followed her gaze to see a second Matrian pulling out another one of those dart guns. She darted down and grabbed the gun from the floor, squeezing off two darts just the Matrian fired one of her own.  
Somehow, Yanick managed to hit her. She pulled the dart from her chest, looked at it with an annoyed expression, then fell to the floor. Behind Yanick, Jall collapsed in a heap, Darik falling on top of him and a dart sticking out of his thigh.  
"So hi, Trish," Wowryk sighed, "How was YOUR night?"

They regrouped at Yanick's hotel room. If anything, the crying of the various infants throughout the hotel would jam any surveillance equipment the bad guys might be using to try to find them. Jall had the wall-screen playing one of the local news broadcasts while T'Parief and Yanick fussed over their daughter.  
"Test. Test." Wowryk was speaking into a spare comm-badge that Jall had loaned her. Once she found her medical kit, it had been a simple matter to counter-act the sleeping agent the darts had used. Counter-acting their hangovers, on the other hand, was proving more difficult.  
"T'Parief, could you say something in..." Wowryk trailed off, "You know I actually never asked what language you speak,"  
"I grew up on a Federation colony," T'Parief rumbled, "I speak Standard,"  
"Yeah. Like a thrice-slayed mutant emu," Jall added.  
T'Parief growled at him, while Wowryk look at him with annoyance.  
"And why would you say such a thing?" she demanded.  
"Because if you understood it, your translator is working," Jall shrugged, "I can speak Trill,"  
"Oh,"  
"Hey, and did you know that in both Standard AND Trill, the phrase 'to come' has the exact same sexual meaning?" Jall went on, "I mean, I was doing my Standard language classes at the Academy. And I hooked up with this human. And he was...you know...getting ready to finish, so he started shouting it. And all I could think was 'Gee...it means the same thing in both languages. That's interesting!"  
Yanick, Wowryk and T'Parief all stared at him.  
"Then," Jall gave a tired shrug, "I realized that if I was thinking about linguistics, it was probably the most boring sex of my life,"  
"So what do we know?" T'Parief demanded, as Wowryk went back to mixing up another hangover remedy, "You were attacked. Jall, I do not care. But Wowryk and Patricia are another matter."  
"I have a note to find Wowryk," Yanick said, pulling it out, "I'm pretty sure it's my handwriting. But I don't remember writing it. And I found her. And so what?"  
"I had a missing comm-badge," Worwyk added, injecting the hypo into herself and shaking her head in frustration when it failed to have an effect, "And a random warning that my room was being watched and the city computer monitored. By something or someone called MALADY."  
"And I woke up with a random Klingon," Jall said, "Which, yes, isn't all that strange for me. But I also had this," he held out his arm to show the Matrian character sequence drawn on his arm with shaky marker. Yanick frowned, then held her note up next to his arm.  
"I think I wrote that," she said, frowning. Wowryk glanced over, then shot herself up with another injection.  
"Why would you be writing Matrian command sequences on me?" Jall asked.  
"Is that what that is?"  
"I think we were drugged," Wowryk broke in.  
"Huh?" Jall rolled his eyes, "Uh, yeah. Hello? Sleeping darts?"  
"I mean before that," Wowryk said peevishly, "I've tried three different treatments for your standard alcohol-induced hangover. None of them have worked. But when I start modifying the formula to account for certain illegal substances, it starts to take effect. And our bloodwork definitely shows signs of other chemicals having been present. I can't tell more without a sickbay or bio-lab."  
"Drugged," Jall frowned thoughtfully. "A note to find you. A command sequence. A warning."  
"I wrote at least two of those," Yanick said, "So...I did things. But I sure don't remember them,"  
"Andorian cider," T'Parief muttered to himself, "Does not mix with humans,"  
"Sweetie," Yanick said, one hand massaging her temple, "If you're not going to help..."  
"Oh, he's going to help," Jall said thoughtfully, "I know exactly what we need him to do."  
"A violent rampage in which all those who would dare lay a hand on my mate or on Dr. Wowryk are painfully and brutally dispatched?' T'Parief perked up, shifting Allona to another shoulder, "This vacation has just become more interesting!"  
"Oh my," Wowryk said, looking at Allona as if just noticing the infant, "She's been so quiet! I'd forgotten she was here!"  
"What's this?" Jall asked, leaning over to pluck out the pacifier.  
"No!" T'Parief exclaimed, but it was too late.  
"WWWHHHHAAAAAAAA!"  
"Put it back!" Yanick slapped at his arm. He frantically (but carefully) replaced the pacifier. Allona gradually quieted, gurgled, then fell asleep again.  
T'Parief growled at him again.  
"Right," Jall rubbed one ear, "My mistake. But no, I'm not thinking slaughter. This is a Federation member world, after all. No, I want you to take Allona and Dr. Darik back to the runabout and get back into orbit. Then I want you to contact Colonel Abela and get her to alert planetary security,"  
"We could just call them ourselves," Yanick suggested.  
"Right. Considering that we're trapped in an underwater city and we've been publicly attacked and yet there's no mention on the news," Jall gestured at the screen he was watching, "Not a peep. So either the city security force is behind this, which I doubt, or whomever IS behind it has some sort of pull with local authorities. Whether it's blackmail, bribery or whatever, I don't think we can trust them,"  
"I. Am. Not. Leaving. My. Mate." T'Parief said, very slowly and very firmly.  
"Look, Muscles, can we just skip this argument?" Jall's hangover was showing again, "I'll start by pointing out that whatever happened last night, Wowryk, Yanick and I were clearly involved. I can't afford to let her go, she might know something important! And we all know you've got the oomph to get the innocent civilians your daughter and a Matrian doctor, I might add to safety. And clearly they want us alive since they were trying to sedate us instead of vaporizing us!"  
T'Parief growled again.  
"Then you'll talk about duty," Jal went on, "Then I'll talk about duty to protect the innocent. And then it will all come down to me ordering you to go because hey, I beat you in that stupid contest and I'm the first officer. So can we skip that? Because I really, really don't feel good and I really, really don't want to argue anymore!"  
Dr. Darik opened his mouth.  
"Don't!" Jall cut him off, "You're a civilian. And I don't think you're involved in this, other than being at the wrong place at the wrong time!"  
"But-"  
"Sem, it's OK," Wowryk laid a hand on his arm. He didn't look convinced.  
In the meantime, T'Parief gave Yanick a hard look then disappeared into the other room. The sound of baby things being packed away could faintly be heard.  
"I wish you hadn't done that," Yanick sighed, "It's going to be impossible to live with him for a month,"  
"Tell me I'm wrong," Jall spread his hands, looking at her expectantly.  
T'Parief stormed out of the bedroom. He gave Yanick one last look, then reached down and kissed her with surprising gentleness.  
"Destroy them," he murmured. Then he hefted Allona, gave Dr. Darik a pointed look, then turned to leave.  
"Don't even think of it," Jall said pointed a finger at Darik, then pointed at the door.  
"Wait," Wowryk found herself moving towards Darik. Without even fully meaning to, she was reaching with one hand towards his face, bringing their lips closer...closer...  
They kissed. Briefly, but deeply.  
"Now go," Wowryk said as Yanick and Jall looked on in amazement.  
Stumbling slighty, he left.  
"Wow," Jall sad.  
"Shut up." Wowrk said firmly.  
"Wow," Yanick agreed.  
"You shut up, too!"  
"A three second kiss! After months of dating! What a lucky man he is!"  
Wowryk crossed her arms and chose to ignore him. "So it's the three of us against who-knows how many of them."  
"Do you really think they want us alive?" Yanick asked.  
"No, I just said that to make T'Parief happy," Jall shrugged, "They probably know that bullets or phasers set to kill would poke a hole in the city and drown everybody,"  
"Oooooooo!" Yanick squeezed her fists in frustration.  
Jall started tapping at the remote padd connected to the wall panel.  
"I didn't want to do this while he was around," Jall said, presumably meaning T'Parief, "But I've got a hunch,"  
"You said there was nothing on the news." Wowryk frowned.  
"No," Jall agreed, "But we left ourselves clues. A note. A code. I'm pretty sure we left ourselves a more detailed message, we just had to remind ourselves there was something to look for,"  
"How would we know we weren't going to remember?"  
"Sweetie, you know what Andoria cider does to you," Jall said, "And I'm an experienced drunk...I know when I'm not likely to remember,"  
"And me? Wowryk asked.  
"You never drink, you'd be on the way to blacksville after your third one," Jall rolled his eyes, "Even if you hadn't been doped up by the bad-guys at some point."  
"Well, Mr. Smarty-Pants, I don't suppose you've forgotten that the computer systems are supposedly being monitored?" Wowryk asked, "So whatever message you left-"  
"I'm betting we knew that," Jall said, "And I'm betting that I did something clever. Something like..."  
The screen crackled to life. There was a flash of static, then they were looking at...themselves. They were in an office of some kind, a window looking out into the water behind them. There was a crash in the background, the sound of something hitting a solid door.  
"Something like hiding the message as surveillance feed for a really boring-looking public library!" Jall said triumphantly.  
"We looked like shit," Yanick said flatly.  
"Think we still do," Jall agreed, running a hand through his hair.  
The three of them did not look well. They didn't have the bags under the eyes or the exhausted cast to their features that they were currently sporting, but Yanick's hair and casual jumpsuit was covered with some sort of dust, with pieces of debris stuck here and here. Wowryk was still wearing her spa robe, but the belt was missing. She was keeping it closed with one arm, but it was slipping. Even as they watched, one side slipped dangerously close to exposing a breast before Wowryk pulled it tight again. She was wavering, and had a vacant, drugged expression on her face. Jall looked the most normal of the three. He was dressed in tight, skimpy clubbing attire. His hair was a mess, but it may have been his usual 'going out' doo as opposed to whatever it was that had gotten Yanick all mussed up. Something had been spilled all over one uniform sleeve, but as he lifted his arm to give a friendly gesture towards the camera they could see a martini-style glass held in that hand, the drink sloshing over the rim to spill on his arm as he gestured.  
"Hey handsome," Jall slurred towards the camera, "By which I mean...me. Not Wowryk. Or Yanick."  
"Tell us..about the-"  
"Noel, be nice. Say hi first!" Ynick inturrupted.  
"Why?" It's just...it's just..." Wowryk frowned, appearing to lose her train of thought. "What?" she finally said, very slowly.  
"Say hello, Noel," Jall giggled.  
"Hello...Noel..." Wowryk sighed.  
"Hi Trish!" Yanick giggled as she waved, "And Noel. And San! And...oh! What if somebody else finds this? Should we say hit to them?"  
"I thought you were supposed tabe ta sober one?" Jall slurred, "Andoran cider..not drunk...just...blackout?"  
"Yeah, but you kept buying me martinis!" Yanick pushed him. Jall wavered, reaching out to Wowryk to steady himself. She fell right over, luckily falling out of camera range before her robe opened.  
"That was the big, pretty Klingon," Jall objected as he stabilized.  
"He was buying those for you!"  
"...might have to perform later..."  
"Maybe we should fast-forward this a bit," the present-day Jall swallowed, "We don't need to hear about-"  
"Not MY problem if you're worried about whiskey-dick!" video-recording Yanick said shrilly.  
Jall blushed and hit the fast-forward button for a few seconds, then let the video resume.  
"-they're probably still waiting at the bar," Jall was saying, "I snuck out when Wowryk called you! But they took...they hook ter...they took her comm-badge! Before I could find her!"  
"Wait we're supposed to be telling future us about all that stuff," Yanick said.  
"Oh," Jall turned back to the camera, "Rights. So they...the man, anyway, he tried to kidnap Wowryk to..." he trailed off, "How did we find Wowryk anyway?"  
"I called you, you snuck out of the club, and we...we..." Yanick trailed off.  
"No, Wowryk called ME, then I called YOU. Then we...oh...that bartender said I could crash on her couch if I had to."  
"Maybe she wants to...y'know."  
"No, she knows I'd rather go home with the Klingon."  
"Why is there a Klingon on Matria?"  
"Who cares? We're gonna-"  
Wowryk hit the fast-forward this time.  
"I wish we'd get to the point," she said crossly. She let the video resume.  
"...anyway, we found Wowryk," video-Jall said another dull thud sounding. Was somebody trying to break into the room they were using? "The guy had her. Wasn't even hard to find, they took her comm-badge but had it in the same building."  
"So that's one mystery solved," present-Wowryk said.  
"Tell her about the guy," Yanick pushed, "And the lady,"  
"What lady?" video-Wowryk's voice spoke up, but she was still presumably on the flood.  
"The lady!" Yanick said, "The lady...the guy..."  
"Right," Jall gulped another sip of his drink. There was another thud against the door. "Hold on!" Jall snapped, "We'll deal with...deal with...just hold on!" He turned back to the camera, "Ok, so, the guy...he had this key. And this code. But it wasn't...he needed Wowryk. But he needed her to not know."  
The door crashed again.  
"Now we have the key. And the code," Yanick grabbed Jall's non-drinking arm and held it up, revealing the poorly written Matrian symbols, "And the man really, really wants the key,"  
"And me," Wowryk's voice wafted from the floor, "Because the lady wha?"  
"And we're just...we're gonna run," Jall said, "They're watching the elevators out of the city. So we're gonna scatter. And lay low."  
"And escape!" Yanick said, "I have a baby to think of, for crying out loud!"  
"That baby is safer than any of us," Wowryk's voice said slowly, "Her daddy is a demolition squad,"  
"Oh! Oh!" Jall straightened up, sloshing more of his drink, "I have an idea!"  
The door behind them crashed in.  
"OK, FINE!" Jall yelled, reaching down for what looked almost like a baseball bat, "THAT'S IT! I'M PUTTING DOWN MY PURSE AND PICKING UP A BIG CAN OF WHOOP-ASS!"  
"Is that seriously the best you can come up with?" Yanick groaned.  
"Oh, evidence too," Wowryk groaned, "Kill the evidence so they don't find the the message thingy."  
"Right,"  
And with that, Jall turned the bat to the camera, prepared to swing, then abruptly the video cut out. The sound went on for a few moments, mostly just impact sounds and grunts of pain. Then:  
"SCATTER!" Jall's voice called, "AND THE KEY! YANICK! THE-"  
The sound cut out.  
"Well," Wowryk said after a moment, "That wasn't very helpful."  
Jall thought for a moment.  
"We know somebody abducted you," he said, after a moment, "You called one of us for help,"  
"Probably me," Yanick piped up.  
"I doubt it, sweetie," Jall patted her head, "Anyway, we got together and found you. And we stole a key and a code from whomever had taken you. We fought with somebody, then we escaped and decided to split up. I must have gone back to the club and gone home with...well, whatever. Yanick went to her big scary boy-toy. Wowryk didn't even make it to her rooms, passing out in an alley instead. Which was a good move, because SHE was the one they were actually after, and nobody was going to find her there. Anyway, we have the code," he held up his arm, "Does anybody have a key?"  
They checked their pockets. Yanick started fishing around in the suitcase still sitting in her room.  
"Nothing," She said.  
"It might still be in that spa robe," Wowryk suggested, "I apparently changed at some point,"  
"Why didn't we just get T'Parief to get us out of the city?" Yanick asked.  
"Probably because we were drunk," Jall replied, "And drunk people are stupid,"  
"Why didn't we go to the police?" Wowryk wondered.  
"Oh, I know this one," Yanick said, "Because we were drunk!"  
Jall frowned.  
"I don't know," he said, "but let's stick with that, just in case. Really, I think we just need to figure out how to get out of here without using the elevators!"  
"Yanick to T'Parief," Yanick squeezed her comm-badge.  
No answer.  
"Jall to runabout Asessippi," Jall tried. Nothing again.  
"Yanick to Jall,"  
Jall's comm-badge chirped immediately.  
"Could be the seawater," Jall said. He thought for a few more minutes.  
"Ok," he said, "We need to get a tap into the city communications system and put a call out for help,"  
"T'Parief should be doing that," Yanick reminded him.  
"You want to wait here?" Jall asked, "Actually, we need to leave. Now."  
"Why?"  
"Ohhh..." Wowryk said, "Because this hotel room is under Trish's name. And they weren't after you before."  
"But they probably are now," Jall said, "So we find a nice, tall tower. Something closer to the surface. Try to get a signal out while we try to get tapped into the city systems. Worst case scenario, we keep hiding until T'Parief sends someone to help us."  
They bolted for the door.

They made it as far as the lobby. They were just stepping out of the elevator when Jall spotted two no-nonsense women wearing the same sort of discreet but tactical clothing the women at Wowryk's hotel had worn. He pulled them both into the elevator and hit the button for the lower level, electing a squawk of protest from the couple that had been waiting for the car, holding two infants each.  
"Should have known to stick to the less public areas anyway," Jall said. They stepped out and started moving down the hall to what was hopefully an exit. Apparently they hadn't made it back into the elevator quickly enough, as the two Matrian commandos soon appeared at the door to the stairwell. "Go! Go!" he hissed.  
The two women darted out the door, finding themselves in a service corridor running towards the next building. Jall followed them, looking frantically for something he could use to block the door. Yanick grabbed him and dragged him down towards the next turn.  
The service corridors were a maze. They ran at top speed, taking turns mostly at random. After several minutes, they slowed. "I think we lost them," Jall said.  
"How?" Wowryk asked, "If MALADY, or whatever, is tapped into the computer system, they must be tracking us on the sensors!"  
"This is a civilian city, not a starship," Jall pointed out, "They might get into the communications logs, or hotel bookings. But I doubt the place is setup for personnel tracking the way a ship is. Privacy laws probably apply." He found a stairway leading up to whatever building they happened to be under. They went up the steps, opened the door-  
And found themselves facing about a dozen Matrian commando women.  
"But they might be able to track the human and Trill life-signs," Jall gulped. The women raised their dart guns.  
"Doc," Jalls said quietly, "You still have that antidote?"  
"Yes," Wowryk said, "But-"  
"Then get ready to go Kung-Fu Wowryk on them!"

Wowryk was still digesting what Jall had said when he abruptly charged the six Matrians, screaming at the top of his lungs. They may have been dressed like cold-blooded killers, but instead of immediately putting him down, half of them actually stepped back in surprise. The other three paused for a moment, then started tracking the yelling Starfleet officer with their guns.  
By the time Wowryk realised what he'd wanted him to do, Jall had actually managed to wrestle the dart gun away from the smallest of the attackers right before two more of them loaded him up with tranquilizers darts. "Oh, right!" Wowryk said. She charged the nearest woman and proceeded to knock her out. She turned to the next one, only to find all the women were unconscious on the floor.  
"I don't know why he was warning YOU to attack," Yanick said, brushing off her hands and putting them on her hips, "I'M the one that grew up on a farm with two brothers. Plus you know. T'Parief isn't exactly easy to keep under control."  
"How would you no," Wowryk shook her head, "I don't want to know." She readied another shot of the antidote and injected it into Jall, being sure to wait until after he was conscious to start pulling out the darts.  
"OWWWW!" Jall objected loudly but groggily, "What the hell!?"  
"If you'd let me finish what I was saying," Wowryk said, "Yes, I have more of the antidote. But it's not good for you to keep doing this,"  
"As opposed to being captured?" Jall asked, "Wow I suddenly have to use the little boys room,"  
"Your kidneys are working overtime to get the neutralized toxins out of your body," Wowryk said, "You're going to be dehydrated!"  
"Which with a hangover crap."  
"Maybe we should find who who these people are?" Yanick asked, nudging one of the unconscious Matrians with her toe.  
Jall frisked one of them, coming up with only a dart gun and a key-card.  
"Well, now we have dart guns too," he said, "But we don't know anything new. That's weird usually when the bad guys work for an outfit that gives itself a name like MALADY, they stamp it on every piece of clothing and kit they have,"  
Wowryk grabbed another dart gun, then rose to her feet. "Let's get up to one of the towers and see if we can get a hold of someone that can beam us out. I'm sick of this place!"

They quickly made their way to the observation deck of Nashawa City Hall. Like Haven, City Hall was the tall spire in the center of the city. Unlike Haven, the city administration had actually named it City Hall, not something stupid like the Nashawa Command Tower. Really, it was a city. And not a flying city either. Just a city that sat where it was and was. Once more they were ambushed, but as they trio neared the more densely populated area, the attacks stopped. Jall was beginning to suspect that while whomever was behind Wowryk's earlier abduction may have friends with the local authorities, they were still trying to keep a low profile.  
The observation deck was at the very peak of the spire, a large room with broad windows and (surprise!) a domed, transparent ceiling. It was connected to the broader City Hall tower itself by a slim, enclosed spiral staircase. A rotation mechanism kept the entire room slowly turning.  
"I wonder why they didn't put a restaurant up here?" Yanick wondered.  
"Probably because the view sucks," Jall said. Indeed, while they could see the lit windows of the city, there wasn't anything else to see. High above there was murky light filtering down from the surface, but nothing was really visible.  
"Try to reach the runabout," Wowryk said.  
"Jall to Asessippi," Jall tapped at his badge.  
"Asess .re sig ak " the badge crackled.  
"Jall to um Matrian Communications Network Operator?"  
There was a chime.  
"You've reached Matrian Communications, this is operator 2033 speaking, how may I direct your call?" a crisp, male voice came back immediately.  
"Now why didn't we try that an hour ago!" Yanick smacked him.  
"Ow! Because now we're calling out through the surface! We're not going through the Nashawa comms network!"  
"Actually, sir, you are. How may I direct your call?" the operator said, sounding bored.  
"Oh shit!"Jall snapped, "OK, look, we're in Nashawa, these people kidnapped my friend, we got her back, and now they're chasing us all over the city! We need a beam-out!"  
"I can direct your call to the Nashawa Civil Police Service," the operator began.  
"No! Look, whoever is after us has a mole or is bribing somebody! Otherwise the kidnapping of Dr Wowryk would have been all over the news!"  
"Did you actually report her kidnapping?"  
"Ahh well no "  
"Sir," now the operator was sounding irritated, "I assure you our police force is-"  
"Hold it right there!" a stern voice barked.  
"Uh-oh," Wowryk said.  
This time they were facing a good dozen Matrians and several of them were in fact wearing Nashawa Civil Police Services uniforms. Jall was about to charge, but they all had their dart guns trained on the three officers. He reconsidered, then slowly raised his hands.  
"Sergeant?" one said, turning to a uniformed cop holding a piece of equipment. He turned the thing on, and the comm signal abruptly dissolved into static.  
"Uh-oh," Wowryk muttered.  
"Don't worry," Jall muttered back, "It's almost been long enough,"  
"Huh?"  
"Clear," one of the police reported.  
"Clear, sir," one of the Matrians in the plain, black gear called down the stairway.  
They moved to the side, making way as a figure wearing a hooded robe emerged.  
"Oh, seriously!?" Jall groaned.  
"Lt Comd Jall," Shadowy Mystery Villian #1 said, crossing his arms, "Clearly I don't want you to know who I am. And while it's still very possible I'm going to kill you all, I'd rather keep my options open. Now, simply give me the key, and this will all be over."  
"And the key is all you want?" Wowryk demanded, hands on hips.  
"Well, no. I need your expertise in well Matrian technology." SMV1 admitted, "So you have to come with me. At least for a while. I promise to eventually let you go!"  
"Uh-huh,"  
"Suppose you're going to need to flay the skin off my arm to get this back too, huh?" Jall held up his arm, revealing the code.  
"Don't be stupid, I have that thing copied down in three different safe places! All I need to be sure you don't have it is some soap and water!"  
Jall looked back at him.  
"You are the LAMEST bad-guy ever!" he said flatly.  
"Who said I was bad?" SMV1 asked.  
"Kidnapping," Jall started.  
"I didn't hurt her!"  
"Shooting us," Yanick pointed out.  
"With tranquilizers!" SMV1 objected.  
"Chasing us all over the city!" Wowryk said.  
"To a nice, secluded spot where we can conduct our business without harming innocent OK, look. I'm not a bad-guy! I just need to accomplish my goals, and I can't do that without the key you stole! Now give it here!"  
"Look, we don't have the key," Wowryk said, "I don't know-"  
"RRRAAAARRRR!"  
"Oh!" Jall started, then smiled, "So much for the chat. You should get ready to die now,"  
Sure enough, right on the tail of the roar, T'Parief came charging up the steps, arms swinging. He charged at the police officers first, knocking two of them to the deck while the others shot at him with their dart guns. Darts bounced off his hide, or off the goggles he wore over his eyes.  
"MEEP!" SMV1 squealed, bolting down the stairs and out of sight.  
In seconds, there was nothing but unconscious bad-guys scattered about.  
"You came back!" Yanick grinned, running over and giving T'Parief a big hug.  
"You seriously expected that I would leave my mate, the mother of my spawn, behind while I ran away like a pathetic human...I mean " T'Parief growled.  
"Nope," Jall said cheerfully, "I knew you'd be back once Allona and the doc were safe. Uh, where are they, by the way?"  
"The runabout is in orbit of the planet," T'Parief replied.  
"Did they give you any trouble on the way out?" Wowryk asked.  
"No," T'Parief replied, "There were several darkly-dressed Matrians in the transit center. I was observerd, as was Dr. Darik. But we evidently were not of interest."  
"He doesn't really match any of our descriptions anyway." Jall shrugged.  
"But any competent villain would think to oh forget it!" Wowryk shook her head, "Can we go now?"  
"Of course," T'Parief nodded, "Though if you plan to go back through the city, consider that they will now be on the lookout for me as well. And are probably looking for weapons that will be more effective."  
"You have a plan though?" Jall asked.  
"And it is much better than your plan of wait for the strong warrior to return'," T'Parief assured him.  
Jall crossed his arms and frowned.  
"OK, genius, how do we get out? The seawater is being a bitch with transporters and comms, the cops are on the take, and WHOAH!"  
T'Parief had pulled two phasers out of his bag and had set them on overload.  
"My plan," he said, "Was to find the highest point in the city, likely a tower or spire. Then escape,"  
"Right, we already found it! But why are you going to KILL US ALL!?"  
T'Parief dropped the two phasers down the stairs then sealed the heavy door. Like the rest of the city, it was designed to hold against flooding in adjoining sections.  
The whine of the overloading weapons, though muted, continued to climb, until-  
BOOOOM!  
There was a flood of bubbles around the windows and the entire room pitched wildly. There was a shriek of tearing metal, then a sudden sense of upward motion. The observation room had been blown clear of the tower, the connecting structure severed, and was now rising to the surface!  
"Is that not brilliant?" T'Parief asked smugly, looking down the lower windows as the lit city of Nashawa disappeared into the depths.  
"You are an IDIOT!" Jall snapped, "What if we hadn't been blown completely clear? What if this room had been breached? What if you'd found us hiding in a basement?"  
"We would have dealt with it," T'Parief shrugged, pulling Yanick close to his side, "We always do,"  
"But why can't we just deal with things like normal people," Wowryk wondered.

First Officer's Log: Stardate, Who cares?

"Well, it's official. Things are getting back to normal. By which I mean we've been banned from Nashawa. They didn't press any charges, they know that having their own cops as part of the problem wouldn't look good. But we are no longer welcome. And the City Hall Observation Deck is closed, indefinitely."  
"But we still don't know who MALADY is, where this key is or what the hell all of that was about! Matrian Planetary Security says they're going to look into it'. Right. Whatever."  
"I'm sick of this planet!"

Shadowy Mystery Villian pulled off his hood, revealing fairly nondescript features.  
"Mr. Mann? Your three o'clock is here," called Mystery Henchman # 1 actually just his secretary.  
"Yes, please tell her I'll be there shortly," Mr. Mann, CEO of M'Lady's Incorporated sighed as he fell back into the comfortable seat in the company's Nashawa office. The door hissed open and a woman dressed in the crisp uniform of a Matrian doctor entered.  
"Mr. Mann," she said smartly, "We attempted to make sense of Dr. Wowryk's scribbles. And they do seem to refer to Federation stasis technology. But I'm afraid we just don't have enough to apply the process to Matrian equipment. We really need Dr. Wowryk for this,"  
"And now that we've tried this the underhanded way, she'll be suspicious if we ask her openly," his secretary called from the outer office.  
"Oh, for the close the door! This is supposed to be a secret, private meeting!" Mann snapped. He turned back to the doctor. "Wowryk got away. The other two who we don't really care about anyway, got away. And they took the key! So we can't even get M'Lady out of stasis if we wanted to!"  
"Not that she would survive the revival procedure anyway, in her state," the doctor pointed out.  
"Which is why we needed Wowryk!" Mann said, "Curses! I understand why those two idiots and the lizard would rescue Wowryk, it's our fault for being careless. But why would they take the key? How could they even know about it?"  
The doctor paused.  
"Do they even know about it?"  
Mann stared.  
"Oh, you have GOT to be kidding me!"

"You have it?" Colonel Craigan, commander of the Matrian Intelligence team aboard Haven asked.  
"Right here," the large, burly Klingon dropped the small, oddly shaped electronic device into his palm, "They were using it as a pacifier. For the infant. An excellent plan, none of the M'Lady employees watching the transit system thought to scan an infant."  
"They may be geniuses at corporate espionage and cyber crime," Craigan shook his head, "But when it comes to field work, they really stink. How did you get this from Lt Yanick and Lt Comd T'Parief?"  
"Starfleet Intelligence has our methods," the Klingon shrugged, "Now, if you'll excuse me, I must return to Matria Prime. I have duties to attend to.  
"Yes, Matrian Intelligence thanks you for your assistance," Craigan waved absently. Now that he had the key to M'Lady's stasis pod, he could be reasonably sure that the old bat wouldn't be popping back up anytime soon. Mission accomplished. And no casualties. No one was hurt.  
There was a squealing from one of his monitors. He switched it to the main display.  
"-don't know where that fancy pacifier went!" Yanick was complaining as she and T'Parief walked through the Nashawa spaceport with their screaming infant, "I swear we had it when we left the caf !"  
"If we do not find it soon," T'Parief groaned, "I will tear out my ears myself.  
"WAAAAAHHHHH!"  
Well, OK. Nobody was seriously hurt.  
Craigan flipped off the screen.

End


	15. 14 - Short-Changed

6.14 'Short-Changed'

Author's Note: OK, there is one paragraph that's full of Halfway to Haven spoilers...but I couldn't bring myself to take it out.

Previously, on Star Traks: Silverado:

What was supposed to be a weekend outing to Matria Prime went horrible wrong for Jall, Yanick and Wowryk but you already knew that. It was the bulk of the last story. Luckily, Capt Stafford missed out on all that fun after they left him unconscious on the floor in one of Haven's docking bays. Unluckily well, that's where this story begins

Stafford came to his senses in the middle of an empty hanger deck with a cold back and somebody's finger in his mouth. Also, the very unpleasant sensation of electricity skittering along his nerves.  
"There. He is awake," Valtaic said, pulling his finger out of Stafford's mouth, "Do you have a disinfectant wipe?"  
"VALTAIC!" Stafford's eyes went wide, "What the hell?"  
"Ah asked him to wake ye up," Jeffery said, "And...uh...look, y'explain it,"  
"Human skin is not a very good conductor," Valtaic said immediately, very matter-of-fact, "The amount of energy needed to overcome this makes it difficult to precisely administer the correct amount needed to wake you without producing discomfort or inducing cardiac arrest. The moisture in the mouth, or other bodily orifices, overcomes this-"  
"OTHER ORIFICES?" Stafford was aghast, "Look, couldn't you just shout, or make a loud noise or something?"  
"That would be most undignified," Valtaic sniffed.  
"You STUCK YOUR...wait...why am I still here? Where are those idiots!?"  
"They left for the planet," Jeffery said, "Thank God. Ah don't want to start a panic or anything,"  
"I can't believe they..." Stafford trailed off, "Panic? Simon, what's going on?"  
Jeffery looked around nervously.  
"Come with me to the shipyard," he said.  
Now Stafford was worried. He followed Jeffery and Valtaic to the tram, which took them to Shipyard Three. Instead of going to the command center, Jeffery took him through a maze of corridors and into an airlock-style security checkpoint. Stafford frowned as they waited for the scans to run. He opened his mouth, but Jeffery shushed him.  
They emerged into a small, secure work area. Stafford recognized some of the equipment; it was similar to some of the stuff down in Haven's classified areas. So the shipyard had its own high-security area? Interesting...  
But why was Jeffery showing it to him?"  
"If this is a tour of obscure shipyard rooms, I would have rather gone down to the planet," Stafford joked. Jeffery didn't smile. He tapped a button and Sylvia appeared on one of the monitors.  
"We've had a theft," Jeffery said, "Dekaire started running tests on Silverado's secondary systems, and everything seems good to go so far. But when she started powering up the warp core for a test run-"  
"Let me guess," Stafford crossed his arms, "Somebody took our dilithium. So what? I mean, OK, yes it's an issue. And we'll have to call T'Parief back here to investigate. Or better yet, make the Haven guy do it, station security is his issue. But it's the Matrian system. They have plenty of dilithium. Maybe not plenty. But enough. More than they need."  
"Exactly, Chris," Sylvia said, "It's the Matrian system. Dilithium isn't that hard to come by."  
"Then what-" Stafford's eyes widened. There was something else that they needed for their warp core. It was sort of a touchy subject, as the Matrian production facilities were limited and they were becoming somewhat more reliant on Federation imports than they would have liked. But it was a very valuable substance, and the facilities to produce it in large quantities tended to attract negative attention. And Matria Prime already had too much of that.  
"You don't mean..."  
"Aye," Jeffery nodded, "Somebody stole our antimatter. All of it. Every last pod has been drained dry,"  
"How is that even possible?" Stafford demanded, "That stuff is more tightly controlled than Wowryk's special painkillers! Or, with her, any painkillers! You can't just walk off with a bucket of antimatter tucked under one arm."  
"The pods were connected to the shipyard refuelling systems after we pulled them out of the ship," Sylvia explained, "I have communed with Madam, the city central computer-"  
"You may call it 'communing'," Madam cut in, her dry voice sounding a bit sulky, "I call it 'brutal interrogation',"  
"Ignore her, her interface routines are still a bit scrambled," Sylvia said, "In any event, the logs were altered. Our pods were drained into the city antimatter supply, which has been somewhat depleted due to all the unexpected travel the city has had to perform. Simultaneously, an identical amount was routed to Shipyard Five. The net effect being zero on Haven's antimatter supply, which prevented Lt Wyer or Lt Comd Virgii from noticing a problem,"  
"Nobody's been in Shipyard Five since we found the place," Jeffery said, "Other than a quick initial inventory. But we checked again. Nothing. Oh, something was connected to the fuel conduits, but there's no DNA, no cellular residue, not even a scuff mark on the deck,"  
"Who would steal...what, thirty pods worth of antimatter?" Stafford asked.  
"Well, more like ten," Jeffery said, "We weren't runnin' on a full tank,"  
"I thought you had us totally stocked for this mission!"  
"Oy, mate! The biggest redeeming quality of these old Ambassador-class models is how fuel-efficient they are! Those ten pods would get us back and forth between Earth and Matria Prime half a dozen times!"  
"Oh,"  
"We have had items go missing from the shipyard before," Valtaic said, looking pointedly at Sylvia.  
"The first thing we did was check the construction bot storage in Shipyard Six," Sylvia said, "It's full. The bots are still there, powered down. The shipyard itself is still inactive."  
"So what do you suggest we do, borrow antimatter from Haven?" Stafford asked.  
"Do ye want to tell Captain Simplot that we lost all our antimatter and need some of hers?" Jeffery asked.  
"I...would prefer not to," Stafford admitted.  
"Then we have some investigating to do," Valtaic said briskly, "I recommend we recall the remainder of the staff at once,"  
"No," Sylvia said immediately, "Recalling the runabout will just advertise that something is wrong. We don't want the thieves to know we are on their tails. Fifebee is currently assisting with the geological survey of this moon. She can load some investigative personalities and assist us until Mr. T'Parief returns."  
"Good points," Stafford mused, "But why is SHE allowed to help the Haven people all of a sudden?"  
"Because their science officer gained magic powers, was assimilated by the Borg, took control of a small sub-collective and is apparently about to go to war with a bunch of fungus-people over the scattered remainders of a race that has been extinct since humanity thought flinging feces was the peak of cultural entertainment," Valtaic explained.  
Stafford, Jeffery and Sylvia stared at him for several moments.  
"Please tell me our mission reports never sound that insane," Stafford pleaded.  
"Shall we review Delorea II?" Sylvia asked, "Or perhaps our encounter with the Probability Drive?"  
"Ahhh...shit..." Stafford groaned.  
"Still," Valtaic spoke up, "The crime did occur on their station. We must at least notify them that we're investigating a serious incident."  
Stafford bit his lip.  
"He's right, Chris," Sylvia said gently.  
"Oh OK," Stafford sighed, "I guess it can't hurt,"

"No,"  
"What do you MEAN no?" Stafford demanded.  
"Look, little guy," the muscular security officer said, "I can't let you on this ship. I've been notified that there was a crime, and I'm declaring the whole shipyard a crime scene. That means you have to leave,"  
"Do you know what the crime is?" Stafford asked.  
"Well no. Just that it happened. Which is enough."  
"We reported the crime! And I'm the captain of this ship!" Stafford snapped.  
"Really? Dude, do you even lift?"  
"What does that even...look," Stafford clenched his fists, "Lieutenant..."  
"Stoneryder," Sylvia supplied helpfully.  
"Stoneryder," Stafford 's eyes flickered briefly over to Sylvia, "We're trying to keep this whole thing quiet, remember? So the thie uh, so the criminals don't know we're after them?"  
"Oh, totally, bro," Stoneryder nodded, "Nobody knows. Except my team. And the Jungle Squad. And I guess Captain Simplot and our senior officers,"  
"Do you even KNOW what secret...oh forget it!" Stafford turned away. So much for keeping this quiet! Of all the stupid, idiotic things they could have done, notifying Haven Security was apparently at the top of the list. "Stafford to Hazardous Team, meet me in the Shipyard Three lounge in ten-"  
"Shipyard Three is off-limits now, bro," Stoneryder reminded him.  
"In my condo then! Ten minutes!"  
It was more like twenty, but Stafford knew that trying to chastise Stern and the rest over the timing just wouldn't go anywhere. Nowhere he wanted to go, anyway.  
"We've got missing antimatter, the Haven security team has locked down our shipyard for their investigation, even though they don't even know what the crime is, half our senior staff is down on the planet, and Sylvia is sure the Shipyard Six bots have nothing to do with it," he said without preamble, "So here's what we're going to do: We're going to...what?"  
Stern had cleared his throat and was giving Stafford that look that told Stafford that his subordinate wanted to say something, wasn't really ready to interrupt him yet, but would totally contradict him after he'd finished speaking. So he just cut to the chase, crossed his arms and waited for Stern to speak.  
"Sir, how many times have you investigated a major theft?" Stern asked.  
"Well..."  
"Exactly. This is one of those times where you wave your hand imperiously, say 'I want that antimatter found and I want it found yesterday', then you let us do our thing," Stern said, striking a confident pose.  
"Uh...like this?" Stafford waved his arm.  
"No, you're supposed to imply an uncaring dismissal," Marsden said, "That just looks like you're waving hello,"  
"Just solve this!" Stafford said, making a general shooing motion, "I don't have time to play your stupid games, I just want that antimatter found! Now!"  
"There you go, sir! Just like that!"  
Stafford pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration as the Hazardous Team filed out.  
"Valtaic, can you at least try to make sure they don't blow anything up?"  
Valtaic looked at him uneasily.  
"I can...try..." he said.  
Valtaic left, leaving Stafford and Jeffery alone in the condo.  
"So now what?" Jeffery asked.  
"I don't know," Stafford shrugged, "I was supposed to go down to Matria Prime for a couple days off, but those assholes left me behind. Because of you, I might add."  
"Sorry, mate," Jeffery was quiet for a few moments, "We could drink here?"  
"No," Stafford sighed, "They might not need us for this part, but I can't justify it. Must be getting old."  
"Uhhh..." Jeffery thought for a moment, "Hardly any shops. No holodecks. Too far to get to Matria Prime in time at this point,"  
"What the hell are we going to do with ourselves?" Stafford wondered.

Fifebee was in one of the laboratories in the Department of Research & Knowledge tower, tapping away happily at the master analysis panel. She'd adjusted the Old Matrian sensor systems to something close to what she was used to and was taking the time to do a proper, thorough analysis of the moon the city had landed on. There were no explosions, no enemies bearing down on her, no illegal experiments being conducted by her staff, and no crisis of the week to force hasty work. No, all she had to do was help the Haven scientists and engineers to understand just how stable (or not) the city's landing site was going to be in the long term. She'd been examining the state of the core (molten), the movement of the outer core liquids (moving, but not too much) and the activity of the magnetic field (present, but fairly weak.) Although the core was still somewhat liquid, the moon lacked the mantle and convection currents necessary for tectonic movement. All in all, there shouldn't be anything for the city to worry about, aside from meteors. Those could easily be deflected with the city shields, or destroyed with a phaser blast. But there was still one thing she couldn't quite put her finger on. It had sufficiently stumped the Haven crew enough to bring her in, but she wasn't having much luck either.  
"Lt Comd Fifebee," Valtaic greeted her politely as he stepped into the lab, "If I might have a word?"  
"Will you be skipping the unnecessarily pleasantries and moving straight to business?"  
"Of course," Valtaic nodded.  
"Excellent," Fifebee favoured him with a small smile, "How may I assist you?"  
Valtaic quickly looked around to confirm they were alone.  
"A large quantity of antimatter fuel has been stolen from Silverado," he said without preamble, "The Captain and Mr Jeffery are obsessed with trying to keep it secret, but are doing a poor job. The Haven crew have declared Silverado a crime scene without knowing why. Comd Jall, Lt Comd T'Parief, Dr. Wowryk and Lt Yanick are all on the planet. The Hazardous Team is investigating, and the Captain wants you to load an investigative personality and assist,"  
Fifebee turned to him.  
"I don't just change personalities like he changes his underwear!" she snapped, "And I will have him know I am already investigating something without loading up any 20th Century Earth detectives!"  
"And are you succeeding?" Valtaic asked curiously.  
"Well...no," Fifebee admitted, "We are examining the stability of this moon. We have examined and identified almost everything that could possibly affect the city. But there is an anomaly approximately five kilometres from the city that we cannot explain. Even kelbonite doesn't leave such a complete sensor dead zone."  
"Dangerous?" Valtaic inquired.  
"No. Just...annoying."  
"Then I believe this antimatter issue is of higher priority," he said, "More importantly, the Captain has charged me with preventing the Hazardous Team from causing damage to the city while they investigate."  
Fifebee started.  
"Investigate an ANTIMATTER theft? As in, examine the city antimatter storage facilities?"  
"I assume so," Valtaic agreed.  
"And you left them alone to come find me?" she demanded.  
"Well, yes-"  
"Come at once," she grabbed his arm, ignoring the energy spike that temporarily scrambled her imaging system, "We haven't a moment to lose!"

Lt Comd Stern stared up at the massive racks of antimatter storage pods, his jaw dropping as he lost count.  
"That," he said, "is a LOT of antimatter,"  
"Nearly two hundred pods," Lt Marsden agreed, "in six separate storage facilities. Each with triple-redundant ejection systems,"  
"None of which work while the city is landed," Lt Rengs gulped, "Who's bright idea was that?"  
"Where did Simmons go?" Stern suddenly started looking around.  
"He's over in the corner," Marsden said, "Dar'ugal and Kreklor are making sure he doesn't touch anything,"  
"What's he doing over there?" Stern demanded.  
"Ummm...I think he's trying to hide his erection," Rengs said.  
"Can't say I blame him," Stern shrugged, looking around at the pods, each containing enough destructive energy to obliterate half a planet, "I stay here much longer and I'll have the same problem,"  
Marsden moved to the control panel set into one wall of the storage facility. Aside from lots of locks on the doors and routine sweeps by station security, the facility was surprisingly low-key. He tapped away for a moment.  
"The thieves transferred the antimatter through this facility," he said, "And it was done from this access panel. They bypassed the security systems and tried to bypass the computer logs, but they didn't fully manage that piece."  
"STOP!" the doors hissed open, "Nobody move!"  
Stern spun around, but it was only Fifebee and Valtaic.  
"What?" he asked.  
"We are here to ensure you do not accidentally destroy the city!" Fifebee declared.  
"And you think barging in here and scaring the crap out of us when we're carrying weapons and surrounded by antimatter is the way to do it?" Rengs asked.  
"Well..."  
"Look, we've learned all we can here anyway," Stern said, "We may as well move on to the crime scene itself and see what we can find,"  
"In a minute," Simmons called.  
"Oh for...come on, Simmons!" Stern called, "We have work to do."  
"I can't go walking through the city like this," Simmons called back, "And...and I don't think it's going to go down while I'm surrounded by all this INCREADIBLE EXPLOSIVE AWSOMENESS!"  
"Simmons, I doubt anybody is going to notice," Stern called.  
Kreklor looked at Stern from where he was standing behind Simmons. He moved out of sight for a moment, then returned.  
"Actually, they will," he said, "He is surprisingly gifted, for a human,"  
If there had been crickets aboard the city, you would have heard them chirping about now.  
Stern shook his head, "OK, look, we have a job to do. Let's just be adult about this. I'm sure once we get out of here it'll go down. I've had this problem before, it's..." he stifled a laugh "It's nothing to be ashamed of,"  
"Yes it is," Fifebee said flatly, "It is a rather unsanitary organic function."  
"I could apply a shock of low enough voltage to cause discomfort-" Valtaic started.  
"No," Simmons replied, "No, not that."  
"It's just a bit of electricity," Rengs said, "Can we just move on? Don't be afraid!"  
Valtaic's eyes narrowed and he gave Rengs a look that clearly said 'Electricity? How insultingly primitive'.  
"I'm not afraid!" Simmons said, "It's just...I'm..."  
Stern face-palmed.  
"He's into electro-stimulation," he groaned, "Thanks anyway, Valtaic. But we don't need him any more turned on."  
Valtaic looked thoughtful.  
"That is a thing among humans? Perhaps I should reconsider pursuing sexual relationships with human females."  
"We do not have time for this," Fifebee snapped. Anybody watching closely would have noticed the Klingon ridges just barely showing on her forehead, "All of you, out. I will take care of this myself,"  
"W-wait..." Simmons gulped, "How are you...are you going to hurt me?"  
"No," Fifebee snapped, "But you will be silent. As I am programming my sensory inputs so that you resemble the current quarterback of the Manchester United team."  
The rest hastily started moving towards the door.  
"So," Stern asked Valtaic as the doors hissed shut, "Only female humans?"  
"For the time being," Valtaic replied thoughtfully.

"That was fast," Valtaic commented a few minutes later as Fifebee and Simmons emerged from the antimatter storage facility.  
"We are in a hurry," Fifebee said briskly, "And it was not difficult. I simply had to be sure he was able to see the antimatter pods at all times,"  
"I see," Valtaic fell quiet. The Hazardous Team had taken off towards the public corridors and stairways that would take them back towards the nearest tram station. Stern and Marsden were discussing the logging systems used by the city fuel management setup, and Simmons was wondering along with a happy looking grin on his face.  
"Problem?" Fifebee asked pointedly.  
"I have no reason to concern myself with the social irrelevancies that are at play," Valtiac replied carefully. Lithinarian culture was an interesting balance between being completely blunt, but also not wasting time on irrelevant prattle that served little purpose. It made him both refreshing and very frustrating to deal with. On the other hand, he'd been living among other races for some time now, and on more than one occasion he'd slipped and found himself asking a question that, for him, was not appropriate.  
On the other, other hand, he usually didn't have to. His shipmates were more than eager to share. And despite being a hologram, Fifebee had been programmed by a human.  
"You are wondering why I, an artificial being with no reproductive needs, would copulate with an organic," she said flatly.  
"The thought had crossed my mind, but I determined it rude to mention," Valtaic replied, "It is also not, in the human turn of phrase, any of my business."  
"I don't find such things rude,"  
"You despise all the untidy processes associated with organic life," Valtiac pointed out, getting straight to the point, "The contradiction I cannot understand is, why expose yourself to one of the least sanitary organic acts when such things clearly repel you?"  
"A human being isn't the same as insects, bacteria, rot, or animals that consume or throw their own waste," Fifebee said, "They may still be..unclean...but they cannot help that part of themselves, despite their best efforts. And there is of course-"  
"Fifebee," Stern had dropped back and spoke quietly, "You know you didn't have to do that. I mean, we appreciate it...I don't think he's actually been with a real woman for at least a year. But I know that's not really your...thing,"  
"I found the experience enjoyable," Fifebee said, "Let us speak no more of it,"  
"Great," Stern moved back to the front, relieved that there wasn't likely to be a sexual harassment complaint anytime soon.  
"And there was that," Fifebee finished.  
"That you found it enjoyable?"  
"Being subjected to a rubbery, unwashed length of organic flesh while its sweating owner attempts to reach a primitive reproductive climax?" Fifebee scoffed, "You are correct, it is not a tidy process. But you miss the key point."  
Valtaic looked confused, then his eyes widened.  
"No comments about being a hologram," he murmured, "No human jokes about relieving sexual stress on the holodeck. Simply a woman engaging in relations with a man."  
"Yes," Fifebee nodded, "To be perceived as a real person, woman or otherwise, is a significant achievement,"  
"I was under the impression you enjoyed life as an artificial being, separate from humanity and the rest of us organics?"  
"Ah, so you WERE paying attention to our 'social irrelevancies'!" Fifebee almost sounding...teasing?  
"They reveal a great deal of information about you and our colleagues," he replied truthfully.  
"Indeed. But to answer your question, you are correct, I have no wish to be human. Still...a sense of belonging, of being accepted by the group, is still desirable. I believe Dr. Zimmerman included that in my programming in order to prevent me from attempting to dominate or eradicate human civilization,"  
Valtaic decided to file THAT little tidbit away for future consideration.  
"And so to achieve this acceptance," he said carefully, "you permit something you dislike? An assault on your very body?"  
"My body is a projection of hard light," Fifebee waved a hand, "And though I find organic flesh somewhat distasteful, I have engaged in and enjoyed sexual activities in the past. I do in fact have pleasure subroutines. Very extensive ones, I might add. Again, probably to prevent me from turning into one of those evil AIs that attempts to wipe out humanity."  
"Oh,"  
"The hard part is finding a male who knows how to engage them," Fifebee added under her breath.

They arrived at Shipyard Five without incident. It only took a few brief moments to confirm what they'd already been told.  
"Residual magnetic flux," Marsden said, running a tricorder over several pod connection ports, "There were antimatter pods connected here. Can't be sure if they were filled or emptied, but fuel was definitely moved,"  
"The logs say they were filled," Fifebee supplied helpfully.  
"Gotta be thorough," Stern said, "Anything else?"  
"Definitely no trace of organic life," Rengs said, running his own tricorder around the room, "No cellular residue, hair follicles, not even bacteria from recent exhalations. The place is sterile,"  
"Transporter beams? Did they beam the pods in and out?"  
Crewman Dar'ugal made a series of gestures.  
"Yeah, he's right," Stern agreed, "They might have beamed empty pods, but you can't beam full ones,"  
"No sign of transporter bea..." Marsden trailed off, "Well, that's interesting...I'm picking up signs of holographic activity!"  
"I'm standing right here," Fifebee said flatly, waving one hand.  
"No," Marsden shook his head, "I mean yes, yes you are,  
"Hi..." Simmons said shyly.  
Stern smacked him upside the head, then looked over Marsden's shoulder.  
"Can you look at this?" he asked Fifebee.  
She looked.  
"Photonic energy traces," she frowned, suddenly interested, "From the decay, I would estimate they were from roughly six hours ago."  
"They used holograms to move the antimatter pods?" Valtaic asked.  
"Perhaps," Fifebee nodded. She turned to Marsden, "Excellent work,"  
"I found this," Simmons inserted himself between the two of them.  
"That is a piece of magnetic shielding for the conduits," Fifebee advised him, "Put it back so the next person to work here doesn't blow up the city,"  
"So what now?" she asked Stern as Simmons trudged away.  
"Now, we need to scan the city for holographic signatures and figure out where the pods were taken," Stern replied, "It's going to take a while though...especially with all the stairwells and turbolift shafts they might have gone through. Plus, we assume they left the city at some point."  
"We don't have a lot of time," Marsden cut in, "The trail is already pretty weak. It's fading by the minute,"  
"I may have a thought on that," Valtaic offered.

"You want a ship," Stafford said flatly.  
"We believe the culprits were holograms," Valtaic said, "The Matrian's internal sensors are not designed with holographic signals in mind. The sensors on the runabouts would work, but one of the Hummingbird-class ships would be ideal. We would require roughly an hour to complete the scans and either trace the holographic residue to the thieves, or possible locate a still-active emitter."  
Stafford drummed his fingers on the table. He and Jeffery were seated in the Silverado Steakhouse, trying to find something that would take the edge off, but without alcohol. Or synthehol "Valtaic, if it was anyone but you, at this point..." he sighed, "Look, I'll call Captain Simplot. Those are her ships, not ours. OK?"  
"Yes sir,"  
"And Valtaic...look, I know you're still somewhat new to the crew, so you don't know those guys like we do. No matter how in control you think you are, no matter how calm things seem...they're going to do something unexpected to screw things up,"  
"Thanks sir, it's great to be appreciated," Stern's voice came over the comm.  
"You know it's deserved," Stafford said.  
"Yeah. OK. Stern out."  
Nothing happened.  
"Valtaic out,"  
The channel closed.  
"You boys decided what you'd like?" Samantha asked them, coming up to the table.  
"Yeah. I've changed my mind," Stafford said, "What's better for the imminent end of the world, wine, beer or liquor?"  
"I'm not sure. But when my world ends, I usually like a pint of Haagen-Dans. Rippin' Romulan is my favourite,"  
"Sure. Why not?" Stafford tossed his menu on the table.  
"So canna drink, or canna not drink?" Jeffery asked.  
"Synthehol only," Stafford waved a hand. Then he tapped his comm-badge.  
"Sylvia?"  
There was a pause.  
"Yes, Captain?" Sylvia's voice came back.  
"Can you join us for a moment?" he asked, "We're sending the HT out with a ship, and I'd like to think about how we can NOT let them turn this into a disaster.  
Another pause, this one several seconds long.  
"Lt Commander Fifebee currently has the holo-relay," Sylvia's voice replied, devoid of emotion, "It is out of range of your present location. Perhaps I may assist in other ways?"  
"No, that's fine," Stafford sighed, "Talk to you later. Stafford out."  
"Sylvia out." The line closed.  
"Wow, whot did ye do, boyo?" Jeffery asked, "Ah haven't heard her that frigid since Ah told her her haggis recipe needed work?"  
"Pre-launch jitters?" Stafford shrugged, looking out at Silverado. The paint job was nearly complete, and he was itching to take her out again, far far away from Matrian space, "Can't say I blame her. A few more days later, and we would have had a REAL ship out chasing those thieves!"  
"Right. A real ship. With no fuel."  
"She's still half-decent running off the impulse reactors," Stafford said, "We proved that after we lost our warp core!"  
"Ah suppose," Jeffery waved Samantha back over, "Get me a Scottish Coffee,"  
"You mean an Irish Coffee, right" Samantha asked.  
"Ah mean whot Ah said!"  
"I don't understand," Samantha frowned, "What's a Scottish Coffee?"  
"Ohhh, here we go," Stafford groaned.

"We've been given authorization to use one of the Hummingbird-class ships for two hours," Valtaic reported, "It is in Shipyard Four,"  
"Why there?" Stern asked.  
"They're usually kept docked in the lower docking ports," Marsden piped up, "But you can't use those ports when the city is landed. And those ships are too big for the docking bays. But they have landing gear, so they just set them down on the shipyard deck,"  
"To the tram station!"

"If you'll just give your authorization here," the Starfleet security officer held a pad towards Valtaic, "We'll release the command codes for the ship to you,"  
"I simply require a moment to read-"  
"No time for that," Stern pushed Valtaic's hand down on the padd, getting a zap up his arm and a shorted-out padd for his trouble, "Bad guys to catch!"  
The security officer eyed the padd as it sparked, the display winking in and out half-heartedly. He grabbed another one from his partner then held it out, careful to maintain a distance from the dark-skinned officer.  
"Let's go!" Stern urged them.  
"You should always read the user agreement," Valtaic said.  
"Nobody reads those! Besides, we're in a hurry!"  
Valtaic thumbed the padd.  
"Have a safe flight," the security guard said, his voice far from sincere.  
"Thanks!" Simmons said cheerfully.  
They made their way into the shipyard itself, waiting until Valtaic had checked the panel and confirmed that the shipyard entrance force-field was in place and the shipyard atmosphere breathable. Through the viewport, they could see the two sleek ships parked on their ungainly landing struts. They did not, in any way, resemble hummingbirds. Or any other kind of bird. They looked more like fuzzy slippers with warp nacelles and a ring around the back.  
"Which one?" Marsden asked.  
"Hummingbird," Stern replied.  
They looked at the hulls of the two ships.  
"On the right," Stern said.  
The airlock to the shipyard floor opened and they quickly boarded the ship.  
"Kreklor, take tactical," Stern ordered, "Rengs, you're on the science station. Dar'ugal, engineering. Marsden, you can fly one of these, right?"  
"As long as we're just flying in a straight line, I guess," Marsden shrugged.  
"Try not to pass out," Simmons suggested.  
Stern was about to sit in the command chair at the center of the small bridge, then he turned to Valtaic and Fifebee.  
"Oh. I guess I'm not actually the ranking officer," he muttered.  
"We're just here to supervise," Fifebee assured him. She tapped at the engineering panel as Dar'ugal manoeuvred into the cramped seat and attempted to transfer her program from her holo-relay to the ship and its built-in imaging system.  
The console flashed 'ACCESS DENIED'.  
"Uh, I can't get into the controls," Marsden complained.  
"USS Hummingbird to Shipyard Four, I thought you were going to release the command codes to us," Stern said, tapping the comm button on the captain's chair.  
"We did," a voice came back immediately, "You idiots are supposed to be on the USS Roadrunner!"  
Stern blinked.  
"But Stafford said we were supposed to take the Hummingbird..."  
"He said Hummingbird-class," Fifebee said, face-palming, "Not the Hummingbird itself,"  
"We're on the wrong ship," Rengs groaned.  
"Well," Stern looked out the window at the identical ship parked a few meters away, "Let's get over to the Roadrunner before-"  
His voice trailed off as the Roadrunner abruptly lifted off and began backing out of the shipyard.  
"Shipyard Four," he asked slowly, "Who's on the Roadrunner?"  
"Nobody," the voice was sounding more than a bit concerned, "The ship is empty!"  
"Lock out the command codes!" Fifebee said quickly.  
"We tried, they've been changed!"  
"We need access to this ship," Fifebee said, cutting off whatever Stern might have said.  
"Oh, sure, give you people ANOTHER ship to-"  
"I need access to the sensor array!" Fifebee hissed.  
"Fine!"  
There was a beep, then the screens on the bridge unlocked. Fifebee gently pushed Rengs out of the way and began tapping at the controls.  
"I'm picking up some sort of triaxilating subspace signal," she said, "It is directed at the Roadrunner! Somebody is controlling her remotely,"  
"Marsden, follow that ship!" Stern ordered, "Fifebee, track that signal!"  
"Fifebee to Sylvia," Fifebee tapped her badge.  
"Sylvia here,"  
"I need assistance with-"  
"I'm sorry, I'm rather occupied at the moment. Could you please call me back later?"  
The line went dead.  
"Well that doesn't help," Fifebee muttered, turning her attention back to the controls.  
If the Roadrunner had been parked with her bow facing out, they never would have caught up. But the ship, either intentionally or more likely through laziness, had simply been flown into the shipyard and landed, stern facing back towards the exit. It wobbled slightly in the internal gravity field as it moved backward on thrusters, moving slowly towards the exit.  
Marsden spun the Hummingbird on her axis,.  
"Engaging impulse," he announced.  
"NO!" Valtaic barked, jumping forward. He was too late to stop Marsden from hitting the impulse controls.  
But the engine controls only gave a flat beep...the impulse reactors were still coming up to full power. Good thing too, the mix of impulse fusion exhaust and a shipyard bulkhead less than twenty meters away would have been...melty.  
"I am here to PREVENT you from damaging the city," he said crisply, "That includes melting a hole in a shipyard bulkhead with engine exhaust!"  
"Sorry," Marsden gulped, "Uh...full thrusters?"  
"Better,"  
The Hummingbird eased out of the shipyard, turning after the Roadrunner.  
"These are quantum slipstream ships," Marsden pointed out, "If whoever is stealing the Roadrunner engages the drive-"  
"They won't," Fifebee cut in, "The control signal would cut out immediately. Even warp drive would be unlikely,"  
"So whoever wants the ship is nearby?" Stern wondered, "Who on Earth would steal a ship by remote? It's going to lead us right to them!"  
Something was nagging at Valtaic's mind but he wasn't quite sure what.

"They took the wrong ship," Stafford groaned, closing the channel over which Captain Simplot had been loudly complaining about the Hazardous Team.  
"It's only an Irish Coffee if you put Irish whiskey in it!" Jeffery insisted for the third time, "When ye use Scotch, it's a Scottish Coffee! It's totally different,"  
"They still put whipped cream on top," Stafford pointed out, head in his hands, "I though Valtaic of all people would keep those people in check. This is a highly sensitive theft they're supposed to be investigating!"  
"They have a new theft to investigate now," Jeffery said, sipping his drink and ending up with whipped cream along his upper lip.  
Stafford lifted his head.  
"Who's investigating the antimatter theft while they chase after a stolen ship?" he asked, "For that matter...none of this is making any sense! Somebody steals enough antimatter to travel halfway across the Federation. Now somebody's stealing a tiny little ship that-"  
"-that has a dangerous experimental drive that could take them halfway across the galaxy on a thimble of the stuff," Jeffery took another swig of his drink, "Doubt it's the same thief, mate. Ye'd only fit a couple of those pods on that tiny ship anyway,"  
"But it still means the team that's supposed to be finding our missing antimatter is playing tag with a stolen ship!" he'd risen and started pacing, "Stafford to Sylvia! I need you to-"  
"Yes Chris?" Sylvia's voice was still flat, "I'm sorry, can you call me back? I'm rather busy,"  
"Sylvia, drop whatever it is you're doing, this is more important!"  
"I'm sorry Chris, I can't do that," Sylvia replied.  
"That's not Sylvia," Jeffery said, his eyes widening.  
"Who is this?" Stafford demanded, "Identify yourself!"  
But the channel had gone dead.  
"Jeffery, go check on Sylvia!" Stafford ordered.  
"What are ye goin' to do?" Jeffery asked, getting to his feet.  
"Something I should have done from the start," he tapped his comm-badge, "Stafford to Beta Shift. Meet on me aboard Silverado immediately."  
"Report to the bridge."

"Can we open fire on them?" Simmons asked eagerly, "Knock out their engines?"  
"You may not," Valtaic said bluntly, "They are keeping close to the city. If they lose control, they may crash into it,"  
Ahead of them, the Roadrunner lurched drunkenly to port, then righted itself and continued its leisure pace as it traversed the city dome.  
"Their control link seems unstable," Fifebee remarked, "I may be able to block it, but again, the ship would crash,"  
"Transporters?" Stern asked.  
"Their shields are up,"  
Dar'ugl grabbed Valtaic's arm to get his attention, the resulting spark making his thick reddish-orange fur stand straight up. He pantomimed one hand flying around like a ship, then grabbed it suddenly.  
"I beg your pardon?" Valtaic asked. Lithinarian culture had never really cared much for Charades.  
"Tractor beam," Rengs explained after Dar'ugal repeated the gesture, "Yeah, that could work, but give me a minute to get the emitter charged. This ship was powered all the way down,"  
Ahead of them the Roadrunner had reached the far end of the city and had slid down, starting to circle along the Outer Rim, keeping close to the inset ring of a dozen or so decks of windows that circled the city. Any collision with the city at that point would cause serious damage. Hummingbird caught up just as it was passing Docking Bay 11.  
"I can tell when I'm being led by the nose," Stern said unhappily, "What the hell is going on here? If they wanted to get away, why not blast towards space at full impulse?"  
"Tractor beam ready," Rengs said.  
Roadrunner lazily continued its circle of the city, almost seeming to taunt them.  
"Let's end this foolishness," Valtaic said, "Lock on the tractor beam,"  
"Sir," Stern was still frowning at the other ship, "Whoever is pulling the strings wants us kept busy chasing the Roadrunner. Probably because the more time we waste out here, the less time we're spending actually looking for our missing antimatter,"  
"All the more reason to capture them now," "But they're just teasing us!" Stern objected, "I think they WANT us to catch them!"  
"If they wanted us to catch them, why would they leave in the first place?" Valtaic blinked.

Stafford and the Beta Shift officers stepped out of the turbolift and onto the Silverado bridge. He'd expected to have to call Simplot to get her security goon out of the way, but apparently he'd gotten bored with the guard task, or been otherwise disposed of. His ship floated serenely in the shipyard scaffolding, only a few of the former horde of constructions bots were still completing last-minute tasks. He strode up the gangway unopposed and stepped through the airlock into the corridors of his ship.  
The bridge consoles came to life as Pye, Day, Quintane and Burke slid into their seats and Bithe stood behind the tactical panel. Stafford took a deep breath, looking around the gleaming, flawless bridge. His ship! Finally! He was getting ready to take HIS SHIP out again!  
"Bridge to Engineering," he thumbed the chair control.  
"Sage here," the voice of the Beta shift engineer came up, "Uh, why are you guys on the bridge? This ship isn't supposed to be going anywhere for another week!"  
"We have an emergency," Stafford said, unable to keep a bit of a grin off his face, "We're launching. Now."  
"Well shit," Sage groaned, "Look, Captain, the antimatter supply is pretty much depleted. Warp power is a no-go-"  
"Look, I just need thrusters, impulse, transporters, tractor beam, maybe shields," Stafford cut him off, "And maybe weapons."  
"And that's it, is it?" Sage tapped his panel for a while, "OK, fine. I can give you thrusters and impulse. Shields and tractor beams at reduced power. No weapons. The capacitor banks are flat-lined, and if you want them recharged off impulse power I'll have to cut power to most of the other systems,"  
"I'll take it," Stafford cut the channel. He squirmed in his seat...just what the hell had those bots done to it when they'd rebuilt the ship?"  
"Clear all moorings," he ordered, "bring the SIF and IDF systems online."  
"Running lights?" Day asked.  
"Hell yeah," Stafford grinned, "Make sure they can see who we are. "  
He rubbed his hands together, then stood.  
"Thrusters at one half. Ease us out,"

In the Steakhouse Lounge, several diners looked up in surprise as spotlights came on across Silverado's hull, splashing light into the restaurant through the big windows looking into the shipyard. Her name and registry were clearly visible, though one solitary bot was still working on the outline around the registry number.  
At one particular table, Captain Elizabeth Simplot, Dr Janet Annerson, Lt Cmdr Josh Shurgroe and Lt Wyer had just finished ordering dessert.  
"So you trust these people to get our ship back, huh?" Annerson asked Simplot.  
"Not completely," Simplot said, sounding more than a bit cranky, "But do you know what I know for sure?"  
"What?" Wyer asked.  
"Us running around after them with runabouts and tractor beams isn't going to help one bit," Simplot said, sipping her wine, "They got our ship stolen, they can get it back,"  
There was a puff of thrusters, then the big Ambassador-class ship started easing away from the window.  
"And that," she added, gesturing with her wine glass, "probably isn't going to end well either."

Jeffery raced into the small room that had been turned into a storage unit for the Federation computer core that had spent the past several months as Sylvia's home away from home. Fifebee had transferred her program to one of the runabouts because, in her words, 'some places just aren't big enough for a roommate'.  
Jeffery looked to the left and saw the computer module, blinking happily away. He looked to the right and saw Sylvia's module, intact and secure.  
But the cable connecting the core to the city computer system had been fried. "Simon!" Sylvia's voice came from the module, "Finally! I've been trying to get SOMEBODY to come check on me for hours! They used a power surge to kick my core off the city computer, thank heavens the protection circuits cut the connection before I could take any damage! But I've been completely cut off!"  
"Somebody's been pretendin' to be yer voicemail," Jeffery explained, "Kept tellin' us you were too busy ta talk. In yer voice, Ah might add,"  
"It's the bots!" Sylvia exclaimed, "Probably the ones from Shipyard Six! I'd know their program code anywhere! They've managed to get a worm into the city computer! It happened after the antimatter theft, so I don't know why-"  
"They've got ta be the ones that're controlin' the Roadrunner!" Jeffery quickly explained about the hijacked ship. He expected Sylvia to have more useful information to add, but she was quiet for a moment.  
"Now why on Earth would they do that?" she wondered.  
"Sylvia, what about Silverado's computers? Chris is taking the ship out now to chase the Roadrunner!"  
"They haven't been connected to the city," Sylvia said, "They should be fine. The bots can't break our systems, that's probably why they waited until somebody unlocked the Roadrunner's command codes. But why..."  
She paused.  
"Jeffery, get me reconnected, then take me to Shipyard Six. I need to check something."

"We will clear the shipyard in ten seconds," Lt Pye reported, "ventral thrusters are ready, we're going to need them as soon as we clear the shipyard's antigravity field,"  
"Where's the Roadrunner?" Stafford asked Bithe.  
"Coming around the edge of the city to our port," she reported, "Hummingbird is in pursuit.  
"Once we're clear, turn us to port and get us some altitude," Stafford struggled to keep his voice professional, but inside he was still clapping his hands like a kid, "Z-plus five hundred meters, and have the forward tractor emitter ready,"  
"Yes sir,"  
"Piece of cake,"

"Engage the tractor beam," Valtaic ordered.  
"Yes sir," Stern gave in, "Kreklor?"  
"Tractor lock established.  
"Reverse thrusters," Stern ordered.  
The Hummingbird shook as she locked onto her sister ship. She slowed, but the Roadrunner was still moving around the outer curve of the city.  
"Sir," Marsden looked up from his panel, "Uh, we've got her surrounded."  
The Roadrunner was dragging them close to Shipyard Three. As they watched, Silverado's saucer cleared the shipyard scaffolding. With puffs from her manoeuvring thrusters, the big ship started to turn to face them, slowly rising from the moon's surface.  
"Good," Valtaic nodded, "We will recapture this ship, then return to our-"  
"Roadrunner is firing her impulse engines," Fifebee snapped.  
"Full reverse!" Stern gulped, his eyes wide.

"Tractor beam," Stafford ordered, watching the small ship inch towards them, barely able to keep its momentum with the Hummingbird pulling back from behind.  
"I think they're powering up their-"  
Bithe didn't have a chance to finish her sentence before the Roadrunner surged forward, the combination of her own impulse drive and Silverado's tractor beam yanking her towards the bigger ship.  
"Cut tractor! Evasive manoeuvres!"  
The Roadrunner shot right below Silverado's saucer, the port edge of her saucer clipping the interconnecting dorsal between the saucer and engineering hulls. She bounced, thrusters firing, then the starboard edge of her saucer clipped the vertical strut of Silverado's port nacelle pylon. Both ships shuddered, Roadrunner dropping as her ring nacelle managed to wedge itself against Silverado's lower nacelle pylon. The Hummingbird, further back, managed to veer off in time.  
"Damage report!" Stafford snapped.  
"Hull breach on Deck 14," Day replied, "Buckling on the port nacelle pylon, but fairly minor-"  
"Sir, the helm...something's wrong!" Pye reported. Stafford looked at the viewscreen only to see the view angling upward as something pulled Silverado down and back.  
"Their engines are still running!" Burke reported from Sciences, "She's pulling us down to the moon's surface!"  
"Impulse-" Stafford started.  
The ship shook again, knocking them to the deck.

Aboard the USS Humminbird, Valtaic and Stern winced as Silverado's engineering hull hit the moon's surface. It was a fairly gentle impact, as impacts went, the soft lunar soil making way for the solid duranium hull, a mound forming as Silverado was dragged slowly across the landscape by the smaller USS Roadrunner.  
There was silence for several moments.  
"Are the Roadrunner's shields still up?" Valtaic finally asked.  
"No," Fifebee reported.  
"Rengs, Simmons, beam over there and shut that ship down," Stern ordered.  
"Sir," they both left.  
Again, several moments of silence.  
"It appears the damage is quite minor," Fifebee finally offered.  
"Uh-huh," Stern grunted.  
"Certainly nowhere near as bad as when you crashed into the USS Stallion during the-"  
"THEY crashed into US!" Stern objected.  
There was a flicker of motion as Silverado's impulse drive kicked in. But the drive had evidently been damaged in the collision, as instead of breaking free of the surface, Silverado starting moving in a low, leisurely arc; her engines pushing forward, Roadrunner pushing back on the port side.  
"He's going to kill us," Stern said quietly to Valtaic.  
"Very possibly," Valtaic agreed.  
"He's probably going to kill you too," Stern added.  
Valtaic frowned, considered for a few moments, then nodded.  
"Yes. He probably will."  
They watched as Silverado continued to slide across the lunar surface.

"In here," Sylvia said, leading Jeffery into a corridor that ran alongside the cavernous main chamber of Shipyard Six. With Fifebee aboard the Hummingbird, Jeffery was pulling her holo-relay with him in order to allow Sylvia to maintain her holographic body.  
"We checked in here right after the theft," Jeffery said, "There was nothin'. The bots were still shut down."  
"I want to take a closer look," Sylvia said. They came to the big double-doors that led into one of several construction bot storage bays. Jeffery entered his security codes, and the doors hissed open.  
Dozens of construction bots lined the walls of the room. Stacked several deep and a good dozen high, they filled much of the space. Jeffery pulled out his tricorder and ran a quick scan.  
"No power levels," he informed Sylvia, "They're powered down,"  
Sylvia walked over and gently banged one fist against the nearest bot. It gave a dull thud, about what you'd expect from flesh hitting metal. Holographic flesh, even.  
Then she reached out, grabbed it, and made a few tweaks to the holo-relay.  
Jeffery jumped as a good sized chunk of the bot (and Sylvia's hand) dissolved into a bouncing, static-filled mess. He reached over and passed his hand through several times,"  
"Holograms," he looked up at the bots, "My God...how many of them? Whot happened to the real bots?"  
"I don't know," Sylvia replied, pulling her hand back, "But come on. We need to check something else out before we report to Chris,"

"I'm going to kill them," Stafford said, his voice soft and completely without emotion, "I'm going to kill every single one of them,"  
"You mean the thieves, right sir?" Quintaine asked.  
Stafford just glared at him.  
"Ah, Lt Rengs is having problems getting control of the Roadrunner's engines," Quintane said, changing the topic, "And I've got structural integrity warnings along the engineering hull. I suggest we cut our impulse engines, it'll reduce hull stress,"  
"Fine,"  
Stafford watched the screen as the ship slowly came to a halt, then reversed course, still pushed by the smaller vessel stuck up against her. Silverado was moving in a slow, backwards arc now, neatly following the curve of the city.  
"Damage is actually very minimal," Quintaine went on, forcing a smile, "The lunar surface is several meters of powdered rock, a lot of it thrown here when the city flattened out its landing site. We weren't going very fast at all when we hit, so other than a couple spots where the Roadrunner hit, it's all cosmetic.  
"Stop. Talking." Stafford said coolly, eyes on the screen. The groove Silverdo's lower hull was pushing into the soil was becoming visible on the screen. Shipyard Three was already out of view ahead of them, and Shipyard Four was just coming up on the starboard side.  
The turbolift doors hissed open and Jeffery stepped onto the bridge.  
"Chris, Sylvia and I-" he gaped at the screen and did a double-take at the Master Situation display, "Geez mate, what have ye done to me ship!?"  
"I'm going to go see if Sage needs a hand in Engineering," Quintaine bolted for the turbolift.  
"Crashed," Stafford said flatly, "Right out of the dock."  
"Who the hell was flyin?'"  
Pye gulped.  
"Whot in the blazin' name of-"  
"Oh, it's wasn't his fault, Stafford sighed, then seemed to deflate, "Somebody crashed the Roadrunner into us. It's just...us being us. What can I expect? There's no way we could have launched the ship without SOMETHING going wrong!"  
"At least we didn't get trapped in an evil virtual dream world this time," Bithe pointed out pleasantly.  
"Yeah, I guess this is fairly minor by comparison," Stafford agreed, "Other than the missing antimatter. So what did you and Sylvia find?"  
Jeffery filled him in on the missing bots, the holographic cover, and Sylvia's belief that it had been the bots that had disconnected her from the city and were likely in control of the Roadrunner.  
"But there's more," Jeffery went on, "The bots aren't the only thing missin' from the yard! They took industrial-scale replicators! Two of them! Sylvia's checkin' now, but we'd bet ye buns to biscuits that there's at least one emergency fusion generator missin', and probably a few pieces of one of the interference field generators too!"  
There was a shimmer of holographic sparks and Fifebee appeared on the bridge.  
"Oh good," she said, sounding pleased, "The holo-emitters in the bridge are working." She turned to Stafford, "I need to access Silverado's subspace transceiver array in order to jam the signal controlling the Roadrunner. The one aboard Hummingbird is not strong enough,"  
"Fine," Stafford said, "Jeffery, how do you figure that?"  
"Well ye don't steal industrial replicators without having a way to power them," Jeffery shrugged, "And if they weren't using some sort of scan block, we'd have picked 'em up on sensors by now,"  
"Picked who up?" Fifebee's head snapped towards Jeffery.  
"The bots that stole a bunch of stuff from the shipyard, stole a Matrian interference field generator and left holograms of themselves in the shipyard to throw us off," Jeffery said.  
Fifebee didn't even bother walking to the science station; she simply disappeared from the tactical panel and reappeared at her old station.  
"Yes!" she said, "How could I have been so stupid? The interference fields the Matrian used were DESIGNED to fool Matrian sensors like the ones on Haven! It was only Silverado's advanced Federation sensors that allowed us to find it in the first place!"  
"What?" Stafford blinked.  
"The geological survey of the moon," Fifebee said, "I was assisting because there were some odd null readings the Haven science team couldn't explain!" Her console beeped, a string of results scrolling up the display, "Somebody is using an interference field, five kilometres from the city!"  
There was a minor jolt as the ship hit something, either a firm patch of bedrock or a boulder or...something.  
"Look, Fifebee do what you need to do to get that little ship turned off so we can put this one back in the shipyard for repairs." Stafford barked "Of course,"  
After another moment, with Shipyard Five coming into view, Silverado ground to a stop. Without the force of Roadunner's engines, the big ship started tilting down, the moon's gravity pulling the saucer section towards the ground. Pye, hands steady, used light taps on the thrusters to bring her down gently.  
Then there was a dull, screeching sound.  
"The Roadrunner just slid off the port nacelle pylon and hit the ground. Stern and Rengs are OK," Bithe reported, "And they say the Roadrunner is OK. It needs work, but we don't have to worry about a warp core breach ten meters from our hull,"  
"Uh-huh," Stafford wasn't even paying attention. He and Jeffery were staring at the screen.  
What Silverado had hit earlier hadn't been a boulder, or a section of bedrock. The ship had shaken because its weight had caused a section of ground to collapse.  
Revealing a broad tunnel, running straight out from Shipyard Five.  
"Well," Burke said cheerfully, "I think I figured out how they snuck all that stuff out of the city!"

"Captain on the bridge," Rengs announced as Stafford, Jeffery, Pye, Burke and Bithe squeezed into the Hummingbird's cramped and crowded bridge.  
"Out," Stafford snapped.  
"Sir," Stern gulped, "I realize that maybe I didn't quite handle that the best way, and maybe-"  
"Stern, I don't want to talk about it," Stafford said, "I want-"  
"Lt Comd Stern failed to mention that he used the tractor beam under my-"  
"-even though Valtaic insisted that I let Silverado handle things," Stern cut him off, "But hey, he kept us from damaging the city at least, right?"  
Valtaic frowned.  
"Later!" Stafford said, exasperated, "Look, I want the Hazardous Team suited up and running down that tunnel in five minutes or less! Jeffery will brief you while you're getting dressed. Get our antimatter back! We'll support you from the Hummingbird, and Quintine and Fifebee are on Silverado ready to jam any more weird signals."  
"I must insist that-" Valtaic started.  
"Valtaic, shut it," Stern muttered on his way by, "Talk later. Go down to Engineering and make sure we don't crash or anything!"  
Valtaic and the HT worked their way off the tiny bridge in a flurry of thrusting elbows and trod-upon toes. Stafford flopped down in the command chair and sighed.  
"Man, what a downgrade," he said, "OK, Pye. Take us to this sensor anomaly. Bithe, keep a channel open to Fifebee. And where's Sylvia?"  
"I'm dividing my attention between Silverado and Hummingbird," Sylvia's voice chimed from the speakers.  
"Any idea what this is about?" he asked.  
"The whole thing with the Roadrunner was definitely a ploy to buy time," Bithe said before Sylvia could get a word in, "The only thing that it accomplished was to send us running around, doing anything BUT tracking down the antimatter thief."  
"But why?" Stafford seethed.  
"Clearly, they plan to build something," Sylvia said, "That is their whole raison d'etre."  
"It's what they were made for, too," Jeffery added helpfully.  
"Simon, that's what raison d-"  
"Hazardous Team is ready for beam-in," Bithe said cheerfully, "I can get them in the tunnel, pretty close to the sensor anomaly. Unless you're worried whoever is causing it is going to shoot them on sight?"  
"Not especially," Stafford said, "Energize."

Stern, Marsden, Kreklor, Dar'ugal, Rengs and Simmons materialized into total darkness. A quick tap on the chin consoles inside their helmets activated a sensor overlay...or in the case of Simmons, activated the misting feature. He jolted in surprise, which sent him bouncing up in the low gravity, banging his head on the ceiling.  
"It's a tunnel all right," Stern said.  
"Not a very nice one, either," Rengs said, "Clearly they just burned through with energy beams. The walls are fused. No lighting, no gravity enhancement. Just a straight line from here to there."  
"Angling downward as well," Stern said, "What was our beam-in depth?"  
"One hundred meters," Bithe replied, "Can your tricorders get anything?"  
"Nope," Marsden was tapping away at his, "Wait. There's no photonic traces here at all. No holograms have come through."  
"They photonic readings in Shipyard Five were likely a ruse to throw us off," Fifebee said over the channel.  
"Or a disguise, so somebody looking in wouldn't see a bunch of bots filling a bunch of antimatter pods." Jeffery's voice chimed in. "Where'd they get the pods anway?" Simmons wondered, "I've always wanted one..."  
"They stole an industrial replicator," Stern grumbled. All the superior officers on the line was really cramping his style, "And no. You have enough things that go boom."  
They walked in silence for several moments.  
"-signal...unable...up..." they couldn't tell if it was Fifebee or Bithe on the comm, but clearly they were getting into the interference field.  
CRUNCH  
Everybody tensed, weapons out. The sound had been transmitted through the comm from somebody's suit, there being no atmosphere in the tunnel. But what had made the sound?  
"That was me," Kreklor growled from where he had taken point, "My boot went-"  
CRUNCH!  
"The floor just got all brittle," Rengs sounded puzzled, "I think..yeah, there are footprints here." He walked over and poked the wall. It took a bit of a poke, but eventually the fused shell that supported the tunnel crumbled, "This is a very bad sign,"  
"The tunnels are unstable, great," Stern said, "OK, people, watch your step-"  
CLANG!  
"ghuy'cha!" Kreklor cursed.  
"I said to watch your step!"  
"There is a GIRDER in the middle of the tunnel!"  
"Look, let's just hurry this up and find the thief, OK?' Stern said.

"We have lost comms," Bithe reported.  
"Did we ever figure out how to counter these interference fields the Matrians were apparently so fond of?" Stafford asked.  
"No, sir,"  
"Think we could figure it out in the next ten minutes?"  
"No, sir,"  
"Ah well,"

"We should be nearing the source of the interference," Marsden said.  
WHOMP  
"By the Prophets!" Rengs cursed, tripping over a half-buried, horizontal girder and flying well, awkwardly floating forward to land in a puff of lunar dust, "What on Bajor were they trying to build here?"  
"Is your suit breached?" Stern asked.  
"No," Rengs said, annoyed, "My suit is not breached, this time. It wasn't breached when I walked into that conduit. It wasn't breached when Kreklor tripped on that cable run and landed on top of me,"  
The underground whatever-it-was that the Hazardous Team had infiltrated had gone from a few girders to an absolute maze of obstacles almost immediately. They'd initially seemed to be in a clear 'corridor' between rows of metal beams, but their efforts to go right towards the source of interference had taken them off that path and right into a metal forest of things to walk into.  
"I just have this sense that if we'd taken a left back there, we'd be OK," Marsden said, sounding a bit distracted. He was still tapping his tricorder, "The interference is strong, but I think we must be getting close. I think this might be a magnetic flux, directly below us. Could be antimatter storage. No, no. I lost it."  
Stern grabbed him by the shoulders, turned him around, and walked him back the way he'd come.  
"Yeah, yeah," Marsden nodded, "There it is. Must be an eddy in the-"  
"Don't care. Down?" Stern asked.  
"Yeah,"  
But down didn't prove to be all that easy a direction to go. Simmons was pointing his phaser at the ground when Dar'ugal abruptly stopped him.  
"What?" Simmons whined.  
"No, he's right," Rengs said. He stared brushing away the dusty soil they'd exposed as their footsteps had broken through the thin crust. After a moment, he came across the actual 'floor'. Girders, conduits, smaller support strings, not enough to be considered a deck, but enough to form a web that had trapped a layer of material.  
Dar'ugal started gesturing, pushing out his arms then cupping his ear as if listening.  
"There's no atmosphere," Stern shook his head, "you're not going to hear-"  
Marsden had placed his tricorder on the ground and tapped a few buttons. After a moment, they felt a brief vibration in the soles of their boots.  
"OK, I have a very rough sounding map," he said.  
"I didn't know these things could do that," Rengs remarked. Stern just shrugged inside his suit.  
"That way," Marsden said, "The ground all around here, up and down, isn't as dense as it should be. Somebody's been doing a LOT of digging to disturb this much of it,"  
"We know," Kreklor banged on a girder with one fist.  
"But they left tunnels," Marsden said, "There's a vertical shaft this way,"  
They moved to follow him.  
"I'll tell you something else though," Marsen said, opening a private channel to Stern.  
"What's that?"  
"The technology in those conduits?" Marsden gestured back, "It's Starfleet technology. Whatever they're building, they stole the designs from us,"  
"So? They've built runabouts, an NX-class ship, rebuilt Silverado and worked on our shuttles. This isn't exactly a surprise."  
"That's true," Marsden switched back to the public channel, "This way,"

"Sir," Fifebee's voice came over the comm, "You will be pleased to know that Silverado has returned to Shipyard Three. Major Dekaire is unimpressed with your actions, but repairs are underway. It is likely our launch will not be delayed. Our official launch," she clarified.  
"Thanks, Fifebee," Stafford grimaced.  
The Hummingbird was hovering directly above the HT's last known position, barely above the ground. The surface of the moon didn't appear any different from any other section of land nearby, but an area roughly three hundred meters in diameter simply defied scanning.  
"Chris, I've been thinking," Sylvia said carefully.  
"OK "  
"We know the bots can't get their own antimatter. We know they like building things. They can get deuterium easily enough I bet if we looked around the gas giant we're orbiting we'd find a small extractor. Or maybe they extracted Helium-3 from the lunar soil. Those industrial replicators and the fusion plant they took will let them produce most of the metals and materials they need to build almost anything they want."  
"As long as they have the energy," Stafford almost rolled his eyes. Only a PTSD-like reaction (based on how much his actual mother hated it when he did that) managed to stop him in time, "Sylvia, this is basic Federation economics. If we just replicated every single thing we needed instead of mining and manufacturing, the amount of energy needed would be insane! And some things either can't be replicated, or don't replicate very well."  
"The bots don't care about that, apparently!" Sylvia cut him off, her voice uncharacteristically sharp, "They just want to build! And they've been working on this for a while, based on what we've seen so far! Which means they've been relying on fusion energy up until now,"  
"So why switch to antimatter?" Stafford wondered, "We'd never have noticed what was happening without the theft,"  
"Exactly," Sylvia said, "Why switch? And why switch NOW? And why take from us instead of Haven?"  
"I dunno," now Stafford did roll his eyes, motherhood preferences to the contrary be damned, "Because they're they plan to "  
His eyes widened.  
"Raise the Hazardous Team," he said to Bithe, "Now. Modulate the deflector harmonics to I don't know, I'm throwing random techno-babble out here. But tell them to get the hell out of there!"

WHAM!  
Kreklor hit the bottom of the shaft and sunk half a foot into the loose soil. Dar'ugal and Simmons grabbed him and pulled him clear before Marsden could land on top of him.  
"You said the gravity was low enough that the fall wouldn't hurt," Simmons told Marsden as he crashed into the 'sand pit', "It hurt,"  
"Weakling," Kreklor sniffed.  
" bird team watch " the channel opened briefly, crackled, let a few words through, then abruptly died.  
"Well, that was fun," Stern said, getting back to his feet and shaking off the loose dust.  
"I just had a thought," Simmons spoke up.  
"You CAN'T have an antimatter bomb!" Stern cut him off.  
"No," Simmons shook his head, causing his helmet to barely twitch to the side, "Why haven't we seen the bots yet?"  
"They're still building this thing, somewhere else?"  
"Because we have been wasting our time in empty tunnels" Kreklor bared his fangs, invisible behind his faceplate, "They are surely guarding something more important!"  
"Like the antimatter we're walking up to?"  
"Weapons out," Stern ordered, realizing that just this once the little bomb-bug was right.  
"The pods are right in front of us," Marsden said.  
"Uh-oh," Kreklor gulped.  
"Uh-oh?"  
Silence.  
"KREKLOR? UH-OH?" Stern demanded.  
"I think I just tripped an alarm field," the Klingon said.  
"How can you tell?"  
"Because I have I think laser beams on my suit,"  
"What? But-"  
"They can't use any more modern sensors in the field," Marsden moved up and saw that yes, a series of red dots were covering Kreklor's suit, "It blinds them as much as it blinds us! Anything not hard-wired-"  
"BOTS!" Rengs shouted.  
Sure enough, three big Matrian construction bots had stepped into the dark tunnel ahead of them. Behind them, Stern could see the hulking shapes of several Starfleet-design antimatter pods neatly lined up.  
"HOLD FIRE!" he shouted, "If you hit the pods, you'll blow us ALL to gibbets!"  
The bots, facing away from the pods, had no such limits.  
The Hazardous Team scattered as three welding beams shot out, neatly bisecting the empty space they had just filled.  
"Get to the pods!" Rengs yelled, "They can't shoot as us if we're behind them!"  
Simmons pulled an EMP grenade from his belt.  
"NO!" Stern shouted. Dar'ugal swatted the EMP grenade away from him before he could pull the pin, "You can't disrupt the magnetic fields in those pods!"  
"Oh, right,"  
"Oh, right," Rengs mimicked, "you nearly KILLED US! AGAIN!"  
"It's what I do!"

"The interference field is dropping!" Fifebee barked from Silverado, "Readings are still spotty, but I'm getting a power surge now!"  
"Hummingbird to Stern!" Stafford jabbed the command chair buttons.  
"Stern here! Uh, we've got a problem! We tripped an alarm, the bots know we're here now!"  
"Yeah, you just stirred up the nest," Stafford agreed, "The interference field is down! Do you have the antimatter?"  
"We found the pods," Stern reported, "But we're-WATCH THAT CONDUIT! We've got three bots here now, and I bet more are on the way! We're going to need beam out!"  
"Stern, we can't let them get away with all that antimatter!"  
"OK, we're behind the pods, NOW we can return fire-"  
The channel abruptly cut out.  
"Ummm," Bithe gulped.  
"What?" Stafford demanded.  
"Pye, let's see the surface," Bithe said.  
Pye angled the Hummingbird so the bridge windows were looking straight down at the ground. Not a good position for anyone who didn't like heights. Like Stafford.  
"YYEEEEEAAAHHHHHH!" Stafford clutched at his chair and squeezed his eyes shut, "Just use the f**king overlay!"  
"Oh, sorry," Pye said, "Uh, overlay active.  
Stafford opened his eyes, then clenched them shut again.  
"NO IT ISN"T! We're still pointing at the ground!"  
"Um yeah. Sorry sir. OK, now we're REALLY using the overlay,"  
Stafford looked at the holographic image. The whole section of ground beneath them was vibrating, the soil flattening out as it shook, as if on a sieve.  
"They're launching a ship," Stafford said, shaking his head, "They built another ship. Underground, yet."  
"This is surprisingly foolish of them," Fifebee said over the comm, "Haven launched from underground, and it required a massive amount of energy to push it free of the desert sand. A three-hundred meter starship with a surface area of-"  
"Fifebee! The point?"  
"Even with the antimatter, I don't see how they can hope to lift the soil covering them," Fifebee said.  
"Oh,"

"NOW WHAT?" Stern demanded as the ceiling abruptly started caving in, pouring sandy and dusty lunar soil on them.  
"This whole place is shaking apart!" Rengs yelled.  
"At least the bots stopped shooting at us," Simmons said cheerfully, "They probably can't see us!"  
"I'm picking up antigravity signatures!" Marsden added, still tapping at his tricorder, "Powerful ones!"  
"Everybody grab onto something!" Stern ordered, grabbing onto a support strut holding the nearest antimatter pod

Stafford watched the vibrating soil. He was so intent on figuring out what the bots were trying to do, he nearly missed it when something thrust itself above the surface.  
Quickly.  
"COLLISION ALERT!" announced the computer.  
"Evasive manoeuvers!" Stafford ordered. Pye jerked the ship to the side, but they'd been too close to the surface. A massive collection of struts and girders was pushing towards them, dusty grey lunar soil pouring from it in all directions.  
"Most fascinating," Fifebee could be heard in the background, "They built only the frame and key components. The soil is simply falling through them!"  
Hummingbird was almost clear when it clipped the edge of the saucer-shaped skeleton breaking free of the moon. Pye swore, pulling the bow up with the ventral thrusters, struggling to keep control of the small ship. It wobbled drunkenly, almost managed to pull up in time, then came up on a steep hill and crashed into the moon surface, sending up a cloud of dust as it slid to a halt. The lower third of the ring nacelle had been torn off and was still attached to the bot's skeletal construction, but the ship was otherwise intact.  
"Chris," Sylvia broke in, "You're going to want to see this," "SEE WHAT?" Stafford barked, "This is the second time TODAY that I've been on a crashing ship!"  
"Chris, don't be a baby, you weren't even knocked out of your seat!" Sylvia scolded him, "Now, look!"  
Stafford examined the display.  
"You've got to be KIDDING ME!" he snapped.

"Oh hell!" Simmons gulped, looking down as the lunar surface receded below them, "We're on a ship. We're on the BOTTOM of a ship! They bots are taking us away!"  
Indeed, they were on the very bottom of a large, cylindrical skeleton. They could see, several levels up, the section where they had first entered the construct. Below them there was a vast pit, now largely filled with the dirt that had fallen out of the skeletal ship. They didn't see the Humminbird plow into the dirt, but they could see the downed ship coming up directly beneath them as the bot ship started to move. To either side, a short distance off but perfectly level with them, were a pair of big warp nacelles, their grills just beginning to glow with the blue of warp plasma. And it was easy to see the glow, considering that the nacelles were the same skeletal construction as the rest of the ship. Warp coils, conduits, field controllers and Bussard collection coils were all clearly visible, and clearly Federation in design. Above them, and slightly forward, a familiar Federation-style warp core was thrumming to life, extending up to the deuterium tanks at the top of the cylindrical engineering hull.  
And the ship was rising away from the surface of the planetoid. They felt a vibration in the hull, and Stern looked up just in time to see a very large impulse engine starting its start-up sequence.  
"EXPLOSIVES!" Simmons shouted, trying to be heard over the humming vibrations racing through the girders they gripped.  
"Blowing something up next to the antimatter pods is NOT going to get us out of here!" Stern barked.  
"The demolition devil is right," Kreklor pointed at a compact package set up on the framework, "If we trigger the emergency antimatter ejection charges, we will be ejected with the antimatter!"  
Stern thought for a split second.  
"Do it!"  
"Aaarise, children of the Fatherland!" Simmons sang loudly, reaching up to the charge and tapping a few buttons. A countdown appeared immediately, starting at five.  
"Wait, what about the REST of the pods!?" Marsden asked.  
"What?"  
"You only got THIS pod assembly-"  
The rest of his objection was drowned out by a series of loud explosions.

"Transfer auxiliary power to the thrusters!" Stafford ordered, "Get this thing off this rock and after that that skele-ship!"  
"I can't," Pye replied, "The helm control systems have gone into a safety lockout until the crash damage can be assessed. I don't have the override codes, Haven must have them. And my airbag deployed!"  
"Ohhh, they're getting away!" Stafford seethed. On the overlay, he could see the collection of girders rising upward, a single impulse engine flickering to life.  
There was a series of sparks at the bottom of the shape, then a segment broke away, drifting lazily down towards the moon surface. Above it, the ship fired its impulse engines and disappeared from view.  
"Bithe, what's that?" Stafford asked.  
"Ummm you want the good news or bad news?" the Beta shift tactical officer asked.  
"Good news?"  
"The good news is we're about to get half our antimatter back," Bithe gulped.  
"And " Stafford gulped, "And the bad?"  
"It's coming right at us."

"OH SHIT!" Marsden squealed, his voice crackling like a teenager.  
"We're off the ship, BUT NOW WE"RE HANGING ON TO A DOZEN KILOS OF FALLING ANTIMATTER!" Stern shouted at Simmons and Kreklor, "HOW IS THIS AN IMPROVEMENT?"  
"Because now we can get away!" Kreklor said. He braced himself against a girder, kicked himself away, hard, and started drifting away from the falling pod assembly. He started to tumble gently in the low gravity "You're never going to clear the blast radius!" Stern said.  
"But there may be enough of my corpse left for a dignified burial," Kreklor replied.  
"It's not going to explode," Simmons said confidently, "In this low gravity? We're fine,"  
Stern and Rengs exchanged a look through their helmets.  
Rengs immediately pushed himself away from the pod assembly, Stern less than a second behind him.  
"Oh, you guys are such chickens!" Simmons called, "Darg, you're with me, right?"  
But Dar'ugal had pushed off right after Kreklor.  
"CHICKENS!" Simmons shouted.

"Stafford to Simplot! I need the override codes for the Hummingbird in thirty seconds or we're all dead!"  
"Simplot to Stafford," Simplot's voice was cheerful, polite. Painfully so. It was that cheerfulness that tells you that you're in BIG trouble. The kind that disappears halfway through what turns into a very angry rant. "You mean it's not enough that you've crashed three, AND COUNT THEM, IT'S THREE, starships TODAY, you want me to give you an override so you can fly that one around AGAIN and maybe bring today's crash count up to FOUR!? ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR FUCKING MIND!?"  
"Simplot! There's a shit-ton of antimatter about to land on our heads!"  
"Five pods, actually," Bithe gulped, "Yeah, I really don't want to be here right now."  
"I'm never trusting you with another ship again! Do I have to remind you, I BLEW MINE UP saving your life?"  
"Stafford out," Stafford closed the channel, "Well, that's a dead end. Can we vent the shuttlebay? Anything to move?"  
"No shuttlebay," Pye said, "But maybe-"  
"Stern to Hummingbird! Watch out!"  
WHAM!  
The ship shook slightly.  
Stafford had flinched back and squeezed his eyes shut. Carefully, very carefully, he cracked one open. He was still alive, and in one piece. There was no blinding flash, no hell-fire. No afterlife, waiting at the end of the tunnel.  
A space-suited figure roughly the size of Lt Comd Stern slowly slid off the sensor array above the bridge, slid down the big front window, then landed on the upper hull with a thunk.  
"Ow," Stern said over the comm, "That really hurt,"  
Stafford was about to deliver a cutting remark when directly ahead of them a roughly rectangular collection of girders (complete with five antimatter pods nestled within) smashed into the ground exactly five meters from the Hummingbird's forward hull.  
"AAAAAHHHHHHH!" Pye screamed, while Stafford, Bithe and Burke flung themselves to the deck.  
Silence.  
Slowly, Stafford rose from the deck and looked back out the window. He was just in time to see two more space-suited figures crash into the lunar soil with puffs of dust.  
"It's raining us!" Stern mumbled drunkenly.  
"I TOLD you we weren't high enough to damage these," Simmons said. Ahead, Stafford could see a space-suited figure inside the now-bent collection of girders, patting one of the pods with a disturbing amount of affection.  
"I need a change of pants," Marsden's voice came over the comm, "And y'know these suits don't have the indoor plumbing. So sooner would really be better."  
"Is it time to go off the clock, yet?" Rengs sighed.  
Stafford just ground his teeth.

Captain's Log, Stardate: The Day We Crashed Three Ships On The Same Day,

"Yes, Starfleet, I know that's not a real Stardate. But Captain Simplot has already screamed at us for crashing three ships. Admiral Tunney has screamed at us for crashing three ships. Major Dekaire has yelled at us for the sudden surge in her repair schedule, the local Matrian Environmental Preservation Initiative Team Rep has screamed at us for leaving three what did she say? 'Unnecessary modifications to the local environment'. By which she means the three skid-marks from the afore-mentioned crashed ships. So yes, Starfleet, I'm aware of what we did today. And I'm aware that YOU'RE aware, so you can just not bother to bring it up again, thank you VERY much!"

"Jall, T'Parief, Yanick," Stafford greeted his three newly returned officers as they stepped into the Shipyard Three conference room, "Thanks so much for leaving me here to deal with thieving robots, hijacked ships and the complete humiliation of the Hazardous Team. And the Beta Shift,"  
"Wowryk was kidnapped, we rescued her during a blackout drunk, then we were attacked at a breakfast caf , chased around an underwater city, and then we blew up one of the buildings so we could float to the surface and escape," Yanick shot back.  
"Wowryk kissed a boy," Jall added, "And he liked it,"  
"Jall was molested by a Klingon," Wowryk said haughtily.  
"So what's new?" Jall shrugged.  
"A woman was involved, too," Wowryk added.  
Stafford blinked.  
"OK, in retrospect, I suppose I'm glad you left me here," Stafford admitted. He turned to Fifebee, "So, what do we know?"  
"Over the course of an indeterminate amount of time, approximately three hundred construction bots from Shipyard Six stole three fusion power units, two industrial replicators and part of an interference field generator from Shipyard Six or its vicinity," Fifebee started without preamble, "They dug a tunnel just far enough that the sensor null zone would go unnoticed. They apparently began construction deep below the surface, working their way up deck by deck, using the lunar soil as replicator mass. Unused lunar material simply fell into the completed decks as upper decks were constructed, hence the cave-like appearance of the engineering hull. They built only the spaceframe and essential systems."  
She tapped a button, and a holographic reconstruction of the skeletal ship appeared on the table in front of them. Engineering hull and nacelles placed directly beneath a circular saucer section.  
"The ship appears similar to modern Nebula-class vessels, only with Ambassador-era components," Jeffery stepped in, "But it only looks that way. See, the interconnecting struts are all wrong. It IS an Ambassador-class ship, it's just been Ah dunno squished into this hodge-podge, so it would fit in the sensor dead zone. Ah'll betcha once they find a new hidin' place, they'll re-arrange the pieces. And boom! Silverado 2.0!"  
"Why bother?" Jall asked, "I mean, I missed the whole thing with the metal tinkerers. But why bother building another ship? I mean, it's only the frame of a ship, really. No hull, no habitable space? That thing's no good to anybody!"  
"It's fine for them," Sylvia's voice broke in. The hologram on the table flickered, then her face appeared, "They don't need atmosphere. They don't need living compartments. They just need something to grab onto and a power source to recharge from."  
"That still doesn't answer why they went to all this trouble!" Stafford said, "I mean, you and Fifebee saw it repeatedly, they just want to build ships. Why would they build themselves half a ship, then take off God knows where?"  
"I don't know, Chris," Sylvia said, "But this was a sophisticated operation."  
"Why do you say that?"  
"Because they covered their tracks through the city security system," Sylvia said, "They knew they had to disconnect me from the city computer, because I could override them. They're just not capable of planning to that level on their own. Somehow, they've either developed something beyond what Fifebee and I saw before, or there's some sort of AI that's directing them."  
"Any idea where a rogue AI would come from?" Stafford asked.  
"Maybe they took a copy of Madam from the city computer?" Sylvia's voice seemed to shrug, "I wouldn't be too concerned. That ship likely isn't a huge threat,"  
"On what do you base that?" T'Parief rumbled.  
"Because there are a LOT of ship components that you just can't replicate," Jeffery knew this one, "They only managed to get the warp core together by stealin' dilithium from one of the other shipyard. They're missin' bio-neural gel-packs, their phaser focus crystals'll burn out in half the time it would take genuine ones to fail, God knows what software they're usin'. The longer they stayed here, the more stuff they could've filched from the city. The antimatter was just the crucial piece of the puzzle."  
"How much of what they needed would have been on the Roadrunner?" Valtaic asked, his usually blank expression looking very concerned.  
"All of it," Jeffery said.  
"More than that," Fifebee said, "The Hummingbird-class ships have nano-tech fabrication systems. They CAN build many of the components replicators can't."  
"So maybe stealing the Roadrunner wasn't just a decoy move," Stafford said, "Maybe they were just waiting for the command codes to be unlocked. But they couldn't do anything with it by then, because we were already chasing after them."  
"But if I'm understanding this right, and I'm a smart guy so I am," Jall said, "We've got an imitation Federation ship with a crew of robots that just took off into the unknown to do God-knows what to an unsuspecting quadrant? That sounds pretty bad,"  
"Oh, it's worse. They're heading right for Federation space," Stafford said.  
"I hope Starfleet does something about it," Jall wiggled his eyebrows.  
"They are," Stafford said, suddenly looking tired.  
Jall blinked, then his shoulders sagged. "Oh. You mean "  
"Yeah. We launch, on schedule. Then we're going to get a boost from one of those quantum death-trap tugs, beat the bots back to Federation space, chase them down and figure out what the hell they're up to," Stafford said.  
"So we're cleaning up our own mess?" Wowryk asked, "How virtuous of us!"  
"Yay us." Stafford said flatly, "We launch in five days. Get your departments ready. Dismissed."

Stern was helping the rest of the security department as they prepared crates of security equipment to be moved from one of the Shipyard Three cargo bays back into the security section aboard Silverado. Everything from weapons and body armour to surveillance equipment and nifty little 'Starfleet Security: Beyond the Red Shirt' recruiting pamphlets that were probably left over from Silverado's original launch 80-something years ago.  
"Lt Comd Stern, I wish to speak with you," Lt Comd Valtaic said, walking right up to Stern but staying at the edge of his personal space.  
"Sure, what's up?"  
"You took the blame for the tractor beam incident with the Roadrunner," Valtaic said, "You lied to the Captain. I plan to address this, but I want to understand why you'd do it."  
"You're not a Vulcan, are you?" Stern asked.  
"No, Vulcans are far too cryptic for my tastes," Valtaic crossed his arms, "They can use logic to argue any case they wish. But you're avoiding the question,"  
Stern looked around, noticed the number of nearby ears, then gestured for Valtaic to follow him into the cargo-masters office. He remembered at the last minute not to actually grab him by the arm.  
"You fucked up," Stern said, "It's simple,"  
"I know," Valtaic said, "I was, and am, ready to admit it,"  
"No, look," Stern thought for a moment how to explain what was going through his head, "Look, you DON'T fuck up. At least, not as much as the rest of us. That's why Stafford sent you and Fifebee to follow us. You're predictable, fairly smart, and to be honest you're more boring than the rest of us. But you're also more likely to make decisions that don't end in disaster."  
"Not always, it seems,"  
"Right. But see, the HT? That's not us. We get the job done, usually. But we also usually destroy some innocent building in the process. Or kill somebody's sacred space monkey. We get it done, but we screw up on the way. That's the way it is,"  
"But why take the blame?" Valtaic asked.  
"Because if Stafford is going to trust somebody to keep tabs on us, I'd rather it be you," Stern said, "I know exactly what you're thinking, I don't have to worry about some hidden motive, or whether you might be trying to work your own agenda at the same time. What I see is what I get. And that makes my job easier. And really, he expected it to be us."  
"I'm impressed by your honesty," Valtaic admitted, "You are blunt, for a human."  
He thought for a moment.  
"If the Captain questions me on it again, I will not lie. But I won't bring it up myself," he decided, "Acceptable?"  
"Yeah."  
Valtaic nodded, then turned to go.  
"You realize we're probably going to chase crazy robots again," Stern called, "And you'll probably get sent along to make sure we don't cause too much mayhem,"  
"No," Valtaic replied, "If you're chasing crazy robots, the Captain will want the full measure of your mayhem. My supervision won't be needed."  
He left.

End


	16. 15 - On The Road Again

6.15 'On the Road Again'

Captain Christopher Stafford sat quietly in his chair. Around him, the bridge of the USS Silverado bustled with activity. Crewmen and junior officers moved from station to station, verifying readouts, confirming status reports with their counterparts below decks and, in general, getting in the way. The bridge itself hummed with activity as the various systems and displays blinked, chirped, and displayed a variety of information readouts that were, no doubt, useful to somebody or other. Although the overall design of the bridge hadn't changed much, there were still a number of differences from before the renovation...most notably switching the Auxiliary consoles from either side of the bridge with the Science and Engineering consoles at the back. Stafford was confident that being able to simply turn to the side to speak to Fifebee (instead of craning right around) would be much easier on his neck. Next to him, Commander San Jall was sitting in the First Officer's chair and sipping some sort of coffee-based drink featuring a huge dollop of whipped cream.  
"This is the official relaunch of our ship," Stafford complained, "The first ship reconstructed by the Haven shipyards. The chance for us to actually leave a planet with something resembling dignity and respect!"  
"If you think we have any of THAT left after we managed to crash three separate ships, including this one, then you're dreaming," Jall said, taking a long sip.  
"I said 'planet', not space station," Stafford said, "I don't think anybody on Matria knows about that,"  
"It was probably on the news,"  
"The bottom line," Stafford seethed, "is that we're launching. It's a bit more high-profile than the first time we launched this ship-"  
"They practically kicked us out of the box dock!"  
"-the log recorder is going to be broadcast live with the Matrians and AWN News," Stafford continued, "And here you are with WHIPPED CREAM ALL OVER YOUR NOSE!"  
Jall looked pointedly at him, then used his tongue to lick all the whipped cream off, his eyes never leaving Stafford's the entire time.  
"Please tell me we weren't live for that," Stafford said, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.  
"Do you really want the answer?" Dr. Noel Wowrk asked, leaning on the tactical railing as one of the random crewmen bumped into her from behind.  
"We're not live yet," Lt Patricia Yanick giggled from the helm, "So all you extras that don't normally work on the bridge can stop pretending to look so busy!"  
"Keep moving," Stafford said as several of the crewmen visibly relaxed, "I want this launch to look professional...Jall, for crying out loud!"  
Jall had pulled out a glazed cinnamon bun and was happily chowing down, apparently not noticing the streak of cream cheese frosting he'd smeared on his armrest.  
"And we're live," Lt Comd T'Parief announced quietly the tactical console "in five...four..."  
Jall quickly took several more bites of the bun, chewing quickly.  
"...three...two..."  
Jall swallowed, shoved the entire remains of the bun in his mouth, frosting smearing on his lips. Stafford was glaring daggers at him.  
"...one..."  
Somehow, between the last number and the subtle beep that indicated the log recorder was now being broadcast, Jall had chewed, swallowed and managed to wipe all remaining crumbs and frosting up with parts of his uniform sleeve unlikely to be visible during the broadcast.  
"Just gotta open up your throat," Jall smirked as Stafford grimaced in disgust.  
Realizing that he was now being broadcast across Matria and to anybody in the Federation who bothered to watch the AWN news snippet about Matria's first Federation starship launch, Stafford struggled to get the angry glare of death off his face and replace it with something more cheerful. He stood, straightened his uniform and looked quickly around the bridge as the extra crewmen leaped back into action.  
"All stations, status report," he ordered.  
"Engineering reports ready," Sylvia said, her holographic avatar standing next to (but not needing to read) the engineering station readout, "Warp core is online, impulse engines at standby. All inertial dampening and structural integrity fields are active, navigational deflector will be activated once we've cleared the shipyard,"  
"Science teams ready," Fifebee said, "All sensors and scanners are within operating parameters.  
"Tactical and security ready," T'Parief growled, "Deflector generators are charged, phaser banks and photon torpedo launchers are operational, but not armed,"  
"Operations ready," Lt Comd Riven Valtaic stated blankly. He said nothing else, either because of his Lithenarian culture or the fact that nobody really understood what Ops did on a starship anyway.  
"Helm ready," Yanick reported, "Moorings are-"  
Yanick was cut off as the ship abruptly rocked. Alarms started blaring, and on the main viewscreen there was a flicker of orange light.  
"Explosion in the shipyard!" T'Parief barked. He tapped his panel and the viewscreen shifted to show the fading bloom of some sort of detonation.  
"Wha-" Stafford started, but Yanick abruptly starting hammering at her panel.  
"Shipyard antigravity field is down," Fifebee announced, speaking loudly as some umbilical or conduit that was still attached gave a metallic shriek, "We are being pulled by the local gravity field!"  
"Yanick, thrusters!" Stafford ordered.  
"What do you think I just finished doing?" Yanick asked, tapping one last command into the helm and sitting back, "Manoeuvring thrusters are maintaining our position."  
"No damage from the explosion," Sylvia reported, "It appears to have targeted the shipyard anti-gravity generator,"  
"And that's why I'm awesome," Yanick said proudly.  
"Stafford to Haven Command Center," Stafford tapped his chair panel, "This is USS Silverado. Do you require assistance?" He inwardly groaned. An investigation, that is, ANOTHER investigation, would set their departure back even further.  
"Silverado, this is Starbase 341," Captain Elizabeth Simplot's voice came over the comm, "No, we do not require your assistance. We would rather you made NO effort to assist us. In fact, we very much prefer that you go FAR away before you crash your ship again. We're backlogged on Shipyard One because we had to pull resources away to get-"  
"Silverado out," Stafford closed the channel, grimacing and hoping nobody watching the broadcast would bother to look into the crashed ship thing.  
There was silence on the bridge for a few moments, other than the continued chirp and chatter of the automated systems. On the main viewscreen, the explosion had faded away, leaving a dark scar and a pile of wreckage that used to be an anti-gravity generator. Haven security teams were already securing the area, and one of the comms channels running in the bridge background could be heard talking about lock-downs and security sweeps.  
"Well, I guess that's our clearance to depart," Stafford shrugged, "T'Parief, I want a security sweep of the ship, just to be sure we don't have any unexpected guests. Lt Yanick, reverse thrusters. Ease us out,"  
"That's-" Jall started, but Stafford shot a quick punch at his leg.  
"Live. Broadcast." He hissed through clenched teeth.  
"Right."  
Slowly and much more gracefully than her ill-fated departure a week prior, Silverado eased herself back out of the shipyard. Her nacelle grills were glowing a brilliant blue as warp plasma coursed through them for the first time since the computer virus attack that had destroyed her warp core. The Bussard collectors at the front of each nacelle glowed red, the heavy magnetic coils behind them ready to direct any stray hydrogen particles into her fuel tanks. As the saucer cleared the shipyard, Valtaic tapped at his panel and the ship's running lights snapped on, illuminating the name on the saucer along with her registry number: NCC-135060.  
Yanick tapped at her panel and the ship rose from the surface of the moon, the viewscreen showing Haven's domed city as it came into view. Then she angled the big ship back and brought up the impulse engines, pushing them away from the moon, the city and towards interplanetary space.  
The irritating thing was, they didn't have far to go.  
"USS Silverado, this is USS Roadrunner," the comm chirped, an officious British voice coming over, "You will hold your current position and prepare for tractor lock,"  
"Oh, this prick again," Stafford groaned. He leaned on one of the buttons on his armrest, "Sylvia, which button do I push to accidentally open a channel that lets that asshole hear what I'm saying, totally by accident?"  
"You're leaning on it, Christopher," Sylvia sighed, "And I'm pretty sure you know that,"  
"Do I?" Stafford grinned, "Naw. But you know, if a certain person of questionable competence were listening in, and he's probably not, wouldn't it be interesting pointing out that T'Parief is just DYING to try out the pulse phaser cannon again? The cannon that's going to be aimed up that little ship's ass the whole way to Waystation?"  
"He has missed it," Yanick remarked from the helm, "Why, when we got on board he said how much he wanted to go back to our quarters and bring the cannon out for another oh. Wait. He might have been talking about something different."  
Stafford closed his eyes. Then he closed the channel.  
"Hold position," he said through clenched teeth, "Standby for tow to quantum slipstream velocity."  
Captain's Log, Stardate: 59653.6

"Wow can't believe we're almost in the six-hundreds already time is flying by! Anyway, the transition to quantum slipstream drive was a lot less fatal than we'd been led to believe. On the other hand, apparently the last ship to make this run nearly started a war, so I guess we're not out of the woods yet. But we've got nothing to do but stare at the back end of that little ship that's towing us through the slipstream. Well, aside from Fifebee pouring over copies of the bot code."  
"On that note, we've received no new information about the construction bot ship that escaped the Matrian system on a course to Federation space. Odds are, we'll beat them back by several weeks. Assuming they head directly for Federation space and weren't trying to throw us off. Which really they could be anywhere, doing anything. But our orders are to go to Waystation, so that's what we're going to do."  
"And I'm going to relax and enjoy being back on ship while I do it."

Stafford clicked off the log recorder, checked to be sure the recording had uploaded to the computer core, then tossed the recorder into the lake. It landed with a satisfying splash.  
"Why'd ye do that?" Jeffery asked from a nearby seat. The two of them were on the holodeck, running Stafford's favourite boating program. The thirty-two foot yacht was rocking gently in the waves of one of the great freshwater lakes of North America. The holographic sun was shining overhead and a gentle breeze ran across the water. Beer in hand, Stafford proceeded to stretch, then relax in his seat.  
"Because why not?" Stafford said, "Because I'm back aboard MY ship. I'm living in MY quarters. I'm running MY favourite holodeck program. And I'm back in the same routine of reporting everything we do back to Starfleet, even though they probably don't care much about what we do, now that we're away from Matria Prime and unlikely do to do anything high-profile in the near future,"  
"Aye but now Ah'm gonna have to fix it, mate,"  
"Oh. Sorry."  
They were quiet for several moments.  
"Ye want to talk about it?" Jeffery asked.  
"I'm fine," Stafford said, taking a swig of his beer and grimacing, "Or I will be, once we restock at Waystation. I'm really tired of the replicated stuff. But no, really. I'm glad we're finally out of that place. Hell, the way these slipstreams work, we're already a week away at ordinary warp,"  
"Uh-huh," Jeffery said.  
"I dunno," Stafford went on, "Don't you feel like like we really accomplished something while we were in Matrian Space? I mean, we were invaded! We helped run an underground rebellion, found a centuries old lost city and defeated the invading bad guys."  
"Aye. The Matrians talked a lot about that," Jeffery sipped his own beer.  
"Then we sat around on our collective butts and managed to what? Start a fire in a night club, hatch Yanick's egg, mess up some sort of corporate exploitation scam and get half our antimatter stolen by a swarm of renegade robots. Haven't we gone sort of downhill?"  
"That reminds me," Jeffery looked at his chrono, "Ah'm supposed to help Sage inspect the deuterium flow regulators in the main impulse drive,"  
"You checked that twice before we launched!"  
"Aye, but Ah'm Ah'm not comfortable with all the work those bots did," now it was Jeffery's turn to look unhappy.  
"You you want to talk about it?" Stafford asked.  
"Nay it's just I think sometimes they reconstructed things a wee bit too carefully. Ah'm afraid some of the old bugs are gonna show up again things that should have been sorted while we did the reconstruction,"  
"Was your first clue the fact that half the decks are still the wrong colour?" Stafford asked dryly, "Because I noticed that pretty quickly,"  
"Oy mate, we agreed to keep it like that!"  
"No, we didn't!"  
"Didn't we?"  
The doors to the holo-deck opened with the usual rumble and Jall stepped in, failed to notice that the doors weren't exactly lined up with the small ship's deck, then fell into the lake with a loud splash.  
"On that note," Jeffery finished off his beer, "Good thing this was synthehol, Ah've got work to do,"  
"Did somebody drop a log recorder?" Jall asked as he hauled himself onto the swim platform at the rear of the boat. He tossed the wet piece of equipment in front of him. Stafford stood up, climbed down the three steps from the lounge area to the swim platform, then kicked the recorder back into the water.  
"Jall, are you bringing me more work while I'm on the boat? Because you remember the rule about the boat!"  
"How should I remember, you haven't been able to run this program in almost a year!" Jall grumbled.  
Stafford climbed back up and dropped into his seat.  
"What's up?" he asked. He thought for a moment, then grudgingly offered Jall a beer from the cooler.  
Jall shuddered, then asked Sylvia for a cosmo.  
"It's not 1700hrs yet!" she chided. "It's appropriate to the topic," he said, tossing a padd at Stafford.  
"What's this?" Stafford frowned, "And what does it have to do with pink booze?"  
"It's the secondary duties roster," Jall said, "In case you've forgotten, we have a great deal of work to do keeping this ship running, now that she's all fixed up. And we need to get a few things sorted out."  
"Oh no," Stafford sank back into his chair.  
"Which means that you, as the Captain of this fine ship-"  
"Jall, stop, please," Stafford pleaded.  
"-are by tradition, the owner of all messing facilities on board."  
"I'm begging you!"  
"Now, as your First Officer, I am the President of the Officer's Mess, or Wardroom," Jall was reading off another padd, "In this case, the former Unbalanced Equations,"  
"Former?"  
"While Chief Ravine is the President of the Enlisted Mess. Formerly the Roughhouse,"  
"Why do you keep saying 'former'?"  
"Anyhoo, since the ship has been rebuilt, we need to hold general members meetings for both messes, you'll have to attend of course, and we'll re-ratify our mess constitutions, pick new names, maybe tinker with the menus. Steven and his staff will of course be there as well, but they don't hold a vote. Thank God Guinanco never got their toes in!"  
Stafford stared.  
"And once THAT's done," Jall continued, "We can all sit down and hold a meeting on all these other secondary duties that need to be dished out."  
"Jall, that sounds like the most BORING thing we could possibly do! Why are you making us do this?"  
Jall put the padd down gently.  
"Because," he said sharply, eyes boring into Stafford's, "we have ONE BAR on this ship, maybe two if you count the one I'm not supposed to go to, and if I'm going to survive without choking the ever-loving life out of each asshole that comes whining to me with some silly problem or other, I NEED IT TO BE DECENT!"  
"OK, OK, geez," Stafford pulled another beer from the cooler, "Calm down. And maybe look into starting a program, or something."  
"Look who's talking, Captain Beersly McDrinks!"  
"Wowryk to Jall,"  
"Jall here!" Jall barked.  
"San, did you know that nobody bothered to re-plant the arboretum? It's just a big empty room full of dirt! Now, I know your people are quite good with interior decorating AND landscaping, so landscaping an interior room should be right up your alley, right?"  
Stafford could almost see the smoke coming out of Jall's ears.  
He consulted the duty padd and noticed that there was no name next to 'Arboretum Manager'. He tapped in Wowryk's name, then showed Jall the readout.  
"The Captain just assigned that task to you, Doctor," Jall said, "Jall out,"  
He looked at Stafford for a moment.  
"Chalk it up to pity," Stafford shrugged.  
`"I could almost hug you right now," Jall admitted.  
"Wowryk to Stafford,"  
Stafford plucked off his comm-badge and tossed it in the lake.  
"You know she'll still find us, right?" Jall said.  
"Yeah," Stafford said, "But I can relax for ten more minutes before all hell breaks loose."  
"And then she kills you," Jall shrugged, "And I get to be Captain."  
"Yeah. Maybe she'll kill me before we have to go through this painful mess meeting."  
Jall shrugged.  
"It's two days from now. And how bad could it really be?"

Two days later

"Unbalanced Equations is a silly name and needs to be changed! Immediately!" "You have a better suggestion?"  
"No! Just just something different!"  
"Do I have a seconder?" Jall asked tiredly.  
The lounge was silent.  
"Oh come on!" Lt Kennerdy objected, "Somebody else has to agree with me!"  
"If nobody has a better idea for the name," Lt Comd Stern grumbled, "Then why would they second it? They know it's just going to lead to another hour of this crap while we try to figure out a new name!"  
"If there's no other new business," Jall said, "Can we get somebody to move that we adjourn?"  
"I motioned that we adjourn two hours ago," Stafford complained.  
"Sir, as the Commanding Officer, you don't get to-"  
"Yes, yes," Wowryk jumped up, "I motion we adjourn. Some of us actually have work to do!"  
"Then I declare this meeting of the USS Silverado Officer's-"  
"I second the motion!" "I didn't ask," Jall said, "We're adjourning."  
"No," the unknown Ensign said, "I second the motion to rename the lounge,"  
"It's too late, you had your chance!" Stafford snapped.  
"Sir," Jall gritted his teeth, "May I remind you that-"  
"You may be the President of the Mess, but it's still my ship and I still have veto power!" Stafford grumbled, "Can we please just end this so Steven can open the bar and Wowryk and whomever else can get back to work?"  
"I declare this meeting adjourned," Jall snapped, banging his gavel.  
There was a small amount of grumbling, but for the most part it seemed like everybody had had enough. Stafford picked up a drink from the bar and moved towards his old usual spot in the lounge. The lounge was looking different thanks to the renovations. The old faux-wood floor had been replaced with a darker, somehow more professional surface. The furniture had been replaced, and the overall look had shifted slightly from old-style pub to trendy restaurant. Stafford wasn't sure who exactly had approved the change Jall and Steven were at the top of the list of suspects. But really, there wasn't anything he could object to overall.  
"Lt Comd Virgii to Captain Stafford," the comm chirped.  
Except for that. They really should have installed comm-blockers in here.  
"Stafford here," he groaned, "What the hell do you want?"  
"Sir," the officious, British voice sounded peeved, "We are due to arrive at Waystation within four hours, and you haven't returned the pre-slipstream exit vector checklist! I insist you do so at once, in accordance with-"  
"What are you going to do if I don't?" Stafford demanded, "Stay in slipstream until I do? We'll be halfway to Andromeda before you figure out how to pull a U-turn in that thing!"  
"This is HIGHLY unprofession-"  
Stafford cut the channel.  
"Ah, there you are," Jall said, sitting down and setting his drink on one of the small tables that had been added between the rear-facing seats, "I need you to sign off on the minutes from the meeting, as soon as Fifebee has them converted to nevermind. Just came into the padd. And the Roughhouse is being renamed Junior's."  
"Junior's? Are they KIDDING?" Stafford asked.  
"Well, a lot of the females objected to calling it the Roughhouse," Jall explained, "And Crewman Hamit didn't like the proposal to rename it Trans-Warp."  
"Why?"  
"Transexual species. He wait .yes, Crewman Hamit is currently 'he'. But changes ever month or so."  
"Oh."  
"The Slipstream was voted down. So was Campus. So since they couldn't agree on a new name and refused to keep the old one, it reverted to the default junior ranks name. And until they come up with something better, that's what it is."  
"What if we'd refused to keep Unbalanced Equations?" Stafford was almost afraid to ask. "Twelve-Aftward," Jall grimaced.  
"Ouch."  
"Yeah. So you need to approve those minutes, then the secondary duties list needs to be approved. And after THAT, well, we haven't had a formal officer's dinner in two years. Yanick jumped right onto planning that one, but you need to approve the menu and the wine list."  
Stafford groaned.  
"Jall, I don't want to have to pull my dress whites out again!"  
"Hey, we're trying to get back into routine!" Jall reminded him, "These are things that are supposed to be routine! We need to do them!"  
"Ugh. Can't we just go back to chasing crazy robots?"  
"Oh, right. Starfleet Intelligence wants your comments on the assessment on the bots construction capabilities. Jeffery added his notes, but apparently somebody cares what you think."  
Stafford tossed back the last of his drink and stood.  
"Where are you going/" Jall asked.  
"Back to the bridge," Stafford grumbled, "If I'm going to work, I may as well do it AT work."  
"Oy mate," Jeffery intercepted him before he could move towards the door, "We've got a problem,"  
"Is this the supply thing again?" Stafford groaned.  
"Aye. Ye know we need antimatter. But we've got a list of non-replicatable parts we need to have in stock. And a few things we replicated that will perform a LOT better if we get proper replacements. Ye know we need that to keep an edge over the bots,"  
"We'll ask at Waystation, OK?" Stafford said.  
"Is Waystation going to restock our liquor supply again?" Steven joined the conversation, "I'm down to replicated stock for over two thirds of my inventory"  
"Och, Ah doubt it," Jeffery said, "We cleaned 'em right out the last time,"  
"Jeffery's actually right about this one," Jall said, "We're going to need to play very nicely with the Waystation officers, get our supplies sorted, then find out what our next mission is."  
"At least this time there shouldn't be any more politics," Jeffery said.  
"Yeah. If our getting resupplied depends on Wowryk cozying up to President Dillon again " Jall trailed off, "Look, just do what you have to do to get supplied, OK?"  
"I'll ask," Stafford barked, storming towards the door.  
"What's his problem?" Steven asked.  
"No clue," Jall shrugged.

"Reversion from slipstream in two minutes," Yanick reported.  
"Goody," Stafford said, staring at the aft end of the tiny USS Roadrunner on the main screen, "Are we all going to die?"  
"You might," Wowryk said, picking at the dirt under her fingernails, "Honestly, I had no idea gardening was such dirty work!"  
"It is literally working with dirt," Fifebee said, turning to Wowryk, "How could you not know?"  
"It just wasn't something I was ever into!" Wowryk replied.  
"But I bet you had fun," Jall said, "And now we're going to have an arboretum again soon, right?"  
"Perhaps," Wowryk said thoughtfully, "The holy water I used to water the seeds will either bless and speed their growth or incinerate them in hellfire. I'm not sure how to judge whether a seed has been good or evil.  
"Many plants are dual-gendered, in some cases they pollinate themselves," Fifebee said, "What does your Bible say on self-impregnation?"  
"Nothing, it's impossible for humans," Wowryk frowned, "But I'm pretty sure if it was, it would be sinful,"  
"So slipstream exit? Horrible death or not?" Stafford asked again.  
"Sir," Fifebee looked unimpressed, "There have been very few deaths related to slipstream use. We are not special enough to be the exception."  
"Not sure if we've been insulted or not," Jall quipped.  
"You are all idiots of the highest caliber," Virgii's voice came over the comm.  
"What when did we open a channel to him?" Stafford asked.  
"Three days ago," Virgii replied, "When you 'accidently' left it open to mock me. Then you accidently, really left it open. We've been listening to your inane chatter the entire trip,"  
"Your night shift should be VERY ashamed of themselves," a voice in the background spoke up.  
"Yes," Virgii's voice came back, "Do tell your Lt Pye that it is improper to refer to smaller persons as 'midgets'. And that intercourse with three persons of normal stature and one smaller person does not count as 'three and a half partners'."  
"The harassment suit is already being filed," the background voice chimed in.  
"Reversion to normal space in ten seconds," Virgii said, "Cherrio, and we hope you have enjoyed your slipstream experience,"  
The channel clicked off.  
There was silence on the bridge. After a few seconds there was a weird sort of twitch that ran through everybody, almost a twisting sensation in their nerve endings. The swirling blue-and-black tunnel on the screen disappeared into a normal starfield, with Waystaion just visible to one side. The tractor beams from the Roadrunner shut down and the small ship moved into a docking trajectory.  
"Well fuck," Stafford said finally.  
"I'm just going to go through the comm logs and see how much trouble we could be in," Jall said.  
"Waystation is hailing us," T'Parief grumbled.  
"On screen," Stafford sighed.  
"Wait," Yanick said, "You're going to answer Captain Beck looking like that?"  
"Like what?"  
"Slouched in your chair, uniform needs fixing. Looking cranky. I thought you liked her?"  
"Trish, I'm not going to try AGAIN to impress that woman. She's clearly not interested!"  
"OK, fine then,"  
"Put her on screen," Stafford said. T'Parief tapped a button.  
"Welcome back to Federation Space," Captain Lisa Beck said cheerfully, a broad grin on her face, "Arm Three is all ready for you. And your supplies are waiting!"  
"I wha?" Stafford gaped. Jall kicked him out of range of the bridge camera, then stood.  
"Thanks, Captain Beck!" Jall said, "We'll dock immediately. Silverado out."  
"Looking forward to it," Beck gave a nod, then the image cut out.  
"What. The. Hell?" Stafford asked.  
"Yeah, something's definitely fishy," Jall said, "We haven't even requested supplies yet, how could they-"  
"I looked terrible!" Stafford was running his fingers through his hair and straightening his uniform, "God, what was I thinking? Yanick, bring us in to Docking Arm Three, and be quick about it!"  
"But-" Yanick started to object.  
"Did you see the way she was smiling at me? Just dock already! I'll be at the portside airlock!" Stafford rushed to the turbolift. Just before the doors closed, he ducked his head back out, "So don't do something stupid like docking us with the starboard airlock!"  
The doors hissed shut.  
"I'm not that blond," Yanick muttered.  
"We're on a trajectory to-"  
"I know!" Yanick quickly corrected their course. "Shouldn't you be down there watching him get brutally rejected by Captain Beck again?"  
"They want something." Jall said flatly.  
"Then shouldn't you be down there making sure we get what we want, too?"  
Jall thought about this.  
"Yup," he patted Yanick on the shoulder, "God knows he'll just roll over and take whatever Beck wants to give him. Oh that's some unpleasant imagery."  
He turned to the turbolift.

By the time Jall reached the portside airlock, the ship had already docked. Bioscans had already been run and the various safety and bio-containment checks had been completed. On top of that, Stafford must have been running full out to get down the length of the docking arm and into the station itself. The arrivals lounge was empty, but a discreet cargo door off to one side was open. The cargo area beyond it had stacks of tall, narrow crates the sort designed to easily fit down starship corridors.  
"-certainly been a long mission, for a starship crew," Beck was saying pleasantly, "Starbase crews expect to be dealing with the same people in the same location for years on end can't say I know of many ships that end up in that situation,"  
"Most crews don't lose their warp cores and let the planet get invaded, either," Commander Walter Morales said under his breath as Jall rushed into the room.  
"It was a one-of-a-kind mission," Stafford said pleasantly, "I'm glad we came back in one piece,"  
"After you ship was totally rebuilt," Morales added. Beck jabbed an elbow at him.  
"Anyway, we've put together the cargo you'll need," Beck said, "If you'll just give your authorization here,"  
"Wait," Jall interrupted just as Stafford was reaching for the padd, "We didn't request any supplies!"  
"Actually, you did," Beck said. She shifted her weight. "Sort of."  
"Sort of?" Jall asked.  
"San " Stafford growled.  
"Starfleet turned down a bunch of your requests during the reconstruction," Morales explained, "Trivial items they didn't want to ship as far as Matria Prime, a few classified items not worth the risk a bunch of parts that can be replicated in the short term, but will need to be replaced with the real thing before too long. Fuel, of course. And since we're your first port of call, guess who got ordered to supply you with it all?"  
"See, Jall?" Stafford said, "Nothing suspicious about it at all.  
"Uh-huh," Jall didn't look convinced, "But you're still going to read through the list, right?"  
"Well "  
"Maybe over dinner?" Beck suggested.  
"Sure!"  
"Great. We have this wonderful Andorian place in the Starfleet Square Mall "  
As she led Stafford out of the arrivals lounge, Jall turned to Morales.  
"That was well done," Jall said, "The whole Good Cop, Bad Cop routine. Having the plausible explanation ready to go. And Beck has him wrapped right around her little finger. So come on. Just between us guys, what's the catch?"  
"I don't know what you're talking about," Morales said coolly, "Waystation is a Federation outpost, staffed by competent, professional Starfleet officers. You guys did good work in Matrian Space, resupplying you on your way through is routine."  
"Really?" Jall leaned in close, "Is it routine for every ship to be met by the Station Commander and First Officer? And is it routine that Captain Beck is taking Stafford to dinner? You and I both know she's not interested in him."  
"Well maybe she changed her mind " Morales said.  
Jall looked at him for a moment.  
"You know I don't think you're very eager to talk about Beck's romantic interests. In fact, I'm getting the feeling that you want to talk about ANYTHING but that. So why don't you tell me what the deal is? Then we can go and cut their little date short and get to the point."  
"I don't know what you're talking about," Morales said angrily, turning and walking towards the exit. He tapped a control as he passed and the cargo door slammed shut, "Starfleet ordered us to give you supplies, we have supplies for you. And as soon as your Captain accepts the shipment, you can have them. "  
And with that he left.  
Jall thought for a moment.  
"Jall to Jeffery. Meet me in Engineering in wait, no. That pub in Waystation's mall the one with the great beer and the view of the Andorian Restaurant's entrance? Meet me there. And bring your shipyard notes."

"Whot are we doin' here?" Jeffery demanded, still out of breath. He'd been halfway down the docking arm when Jall had rushed back, dragged him to the transporter room and had Pysternzyks beam them directly to the pub.  
"You are drinking a beer and acting natural," Jall said, shoving a pint into his hands, "I am going through these shipyard logs of yours and comparing them to Waystation's cargo manifest,"  
"Why am Ah here if yer just lookin' at paperwork?" Jeffery asked. He looked at his beer for a moment, then took a sip. "Actually, nevermind. If it's free lager, I'm not complaining."  
"Pay for your own beer," Jall said, "You're here to keep an eye on Stafford and Beck while I go through this,"  
"Why don't ye just get Sylvia to do it?"  
Jall stared at him blankly for a moment.  
"Because Sylvia's busy." he said.  
"Ye just didn't think to ask. Ye figured ye could do it yerself. Never mind that she'd have it done in less than a millisecond."  
"She has a brain the size of a small building," Jall turned back to the padds, "And she has better things to do than compare two lists."  
"So do we!"  
"What are they doing?" Jall asked.  
"Huh?"  
"Stafford and Beck! What are they doing?"  
"Oh." Jeffery watched for a moment. "They're just talking.  
"About what?"  
"Oy, who knows? It's Chris he's terrible at talking to women. He's probably tryin' to tell her about Matrian Hockey or something."

"The water has chunks. Why does the water have chunks?" Stafford asked.  
"It's Andorian," Beck said, "Try it. You'll like it."  
Stafford took a careful sip. Suddenly, Matrian cuisine didn't seem all that bad.  
"It's interesting," he said carefully. He looked at the menu.  
"Uh do they have anything other than organ meat?"  
"Sure, it's on the next page. Next to the venom cakes,"  
"Maybe I'll stick with the I dunno I can't pronounce this one but steak and kidney pie is a thing on Earth, right?"  
"Yeah, that's pretty good. But if you're new to Andorian food, I'd suggest the spleen pie. It's a lot milder."  
"OK then,"  
There was silence for a moment.  
"So," Beck said, "Tell me about the Matrian mission,"  
"Where do you want to start?" Stafford chuckled.  
"I actually want you to start back at your first mission to Matrian Space," Beck said, glancing over to the side before meeting his gaze, "When we first met."  
"Oh geez," Stafford leaned back, "I can't believe how much things have changed. The Matrian Empire was enslaving their neighbors; and they kept trying to kidnap Dr. Wowryk. We knew we were going into hostile territory. And the ship well, you took command of Silverado when I was knocked out during that pirate attack. You know there were issues."  
"You were still having issues the last time you passed through here," Beck muttered into her glass.  
And with that, Stafford hit the brick wall of reality. He was sitting in a fancy restaurant with Captain Lisa Beck, of all people. A beautiful and successful woman, commander of an important outpost and a woman who had made it clear that she wasn't interested in attempting any sort of romantic engagement with him. "Anyway, things had changed a lot by the time we came back the second time," he said.  
"It's actually really interesting that you were sent back," Beck commented, taking a sip of her drink, "Follow-up work like that is fairly rare."  
OK, well maybe things had changed. Maybe she was single again. Maybe the mission to Matria had impressed her.  
Right.

"Stafford doesn't look happy," Yanick reported, "I think he's starting to figure out that maybe she wants something. I mean, something that's not him."  
"Do I," Lt Comd Valtaic asked, "need to point out yet again how ridiculous-"  
"What part are you about to criticize?" a new voice broke in, "Our asinine mating rituals, our drive to find silly reasons to keep secrets from each other, or the way some of us like sticking our noses in where they aren't invited?"  
"Well, I hadn't thought of the third item until you arrive," Valtaic told the bearded officer as he arrived at their table, uninvited, "But certainly the first two. And the third, now that you're here,"  
"Hi, Craig," Yanick said politely, "How are you?"  
"Good thanks Patty?"  
"Trish."  
"Darn," Porter snapped his fingers.  
"They both come from Patricia!" Yanick giggled.  
"Hey, it's my lack of social skills and I will take it." Valtaic looked at them expectantly.  
"It's not our first visit to Waystation," Yanick explained, "And I mean, we're not BFF's or anything, but we did fight off Klingon pirates together."  
"Plus that time Captain Beck was kidnapped," Lt Comd Craig Porter pointed out.  
"Yeah. T'Parief has a Waystation holodeck program he uses now when he wants to train on heavy starship weapons systems."  
"Plus the time Porter and I were BOTH kidnapped and tortured by K'Eleese," Jall added, his eyes still glued to the padds in front of him, "At the Ops Conference. On Nisus."  
"Oh yeah," Yanick giggled, "I forgot about that,'  
"Wish I could too," Porter's smile was becoming strained.  
"Have a pint, mate," Jeffery said amiable, "Anybody who's been tortured with Jall..." he trailed off into an awkward silece.  
"Knows what we go through on a daily basis," Yanick finished.  
"Well, you know, it was a very educational experience," Porter said, recovering quickly, "You know how it is people say 'Oh, how can you be against torture? How do you know it's really so bad?' But hey, now I can tell them: 'Been there, done that.' "  
"That's kinda dark," Jeffery said.  
"I like dark," Porter said, "If you turn the lights on, everybody knows you're home. Then there's no escaping the salesman,"  
Yanick giggled.  
"Did you want to join us for a bit?" she asked.  
"Thanks," Porter sat, and the waiter came by to take his order. He wasn't about to tell the Silverado crew that he and Lt Comd Russel and Ensign Jones had drawn straws to see who would come down and have this little chat. They, like Yanick, had also apparently forgotten their little piece of shared history. Probably for the better.  
"So-" he started, but was immediately cut off.  
"Yeah, Stafford definitely knows she doesn't want to date him," Jeffery said, peering at the Andorian restaurant, "That's the same look he had on his face when that Bajoran woman at the Academy told him to take a hike. And the human girl from Terra Nova. And the one stationed on Starbase 45. And-"  
"Then why is he still there talking to her?" Jall asked, "Jeffery, the Captain couldn't read a woman if she was printed in hardcover."  
"Look, the reason I'm here," Porter said, "Is because-"  
"AH-HAH!" Jall pumped his arms in victory, "I FOUND IT!"  
"That's what he...um...no. Sorry, I've got nothing," Yanick shrugged.  
"These Waystation people are trying to pull a fast one on us!" Jall said, grabbing the padds, downing his drink and thumbing the payment panel near the end of the table, "No wonder that Morales guy wouldn't play straight with me!"  
"You couldn't play straight if...hmmm." Yanick frowned. "Nope. Lost that one too. Gee, what is wrong with me today?"  
"Morales just-" Porter started.  
"Come on," Jall grabbed Jeffery's arm. The engineer barely managed to finish his drink, "We have to go investigate this thing!"  
"Whot thing?"  
"If you'll just take a seat-" Porter tried again.  
But Jall and Jeffery were gone in a flash. Looking curious, Valtaic followed after them.  
"I was about to explain everything to them," Porter said, looking a bit stunned.  
"Yeah, you were about to spoil their fun," Yanick said.  
"Fun?"  
"We just got back from a planetary invasion," Yanick shrugged, "Then that weird corporate thingy on Kallar IV. Oh,and crazy robots stealing antimatter and nearly blowing up the moon we were on. Whatever's going on here...whatever you guys are up to...really, it can't be dangerous, can it?"  
"Ah...well...technically not..." Porter shrugged, "But then, how do you define dangerous? Some people think fluffy little squirrel things are deadly. And I'm one of them."  
"Wha?" now it was Yanick's turn to be confused.  
"Nevermind. If you don't know, you're probably be happier.  
"Right. Well, I'm sure whatever Chris and Captain Beck are talking about, nobody's going to get killed," Yanick went on, "And Jall's having fun chasing conspiracies. And really...it's nice to be back in Federation space again."  
"Oh," Porter blinked, "Well...do you want to know what the real story is?"  
"Nope," Yanick looked at her chrono, "I have to go pick my daughter up from daycare."  
"Congratulations," Porter's head was almost spinning, "I didn't realize things between you and your...partner...were that serious."  
"Well, sometimes life has a way of surprising you," Yanick stood to go, "Unexpectedly swelling up, laying an egg, then hatching it in the middle of a dance club is a big one. Cheers!"  
Porter took a sip of his drink. OK. Well. If the Silverado crew wanted to find out the hard way, who was he to stop them?  
"Maybe Beck and Stafford will end up in the Mishtak pit," he mused.

Stafford was trying to be annoyed. He really was. Beck had been polite and charming, other than a couple of minor side comments. She was as lovely as he remembered...the red hair, the firm but pleasant no-nonsense attitude...the way her uniform followed a few of her more obvious curves.  
But it was also clear that whatever reason she'd brought him down here, it wasn't romantic interest. The vibe just wasn't there. And she kept looking off to the side. What was she looking at? Should he look? Would it be obvious if he did? And whatever it was, she'd brought him here anyway. But apparently not for a date.  
So why were they having dinner?  
He forced a chuckle, then answered a question Beck had asked about the Kallar IV incident. The unmanned fleet that they'd stumbled over in their four tiny runabouts had certainly been a surprise. And there weren't so many abandoned fleets out there that every Starfleet captain had stumbled over one. But there had been several. And coming across abandoned alien technology was par for the course.  
What would Wowryk or Yanick say, Stafford wondered to himself?  
"Stop looking at her breasts," he could hear Wowryk's voice in his head, clear as if she'd been standing right there, "She's not stupid. She knows you're doing it. It's both sinful and unprofessional."  
OK. Yup. She was right about that, Stafford realized, forcing himself to meet Beck's gorgeous eyes. And yes, there was a hint of irritation in her face. She had, in fact, noticed where his gaze had gone. But in terms of his larger problem, it wasn't very helpful.  
"It's not like you two never got along," Yanick's voice spoke in his head, "She took command of your ship when you were knocked out. You took command of her station when she was kidnapped."  
"You're looking at her breasts again. Eyes up!" Wowryk's voice snapped.  
"But how on Earth did you manage having your doctor as a celebrity?" Beck asked, "They may be a member world now, but-"  
"Dr. Wowryk is nothing if not professional," Stafford said, both to Beck and to the voices in his head, "I didn't have to manage it...she managed it fairly well." He frowned. Better to leave out the Nashawa kidnapping. Or that whole episode with Mr. Mann and the water-gun fight.  
"...I mean, it's not like you HAVE to pay attention to me, I'm just a voice in your head. I'm not going anywhere..."  
Huh. Apparently Imaginary Yanick liked to ramble on as much as the real one.  
"Oh, you're listening. Where was I? Right. You guys actually have more in common than you think. And one of the things you admire about her...probably because it reminds you of you, you narcissist, is that she usually up-front and to the point. So why don't you just ASK her what the hell the deal is!"  
Stafford grimaced.  
"I know, the spleen isn't the freshest," Beck said, catching the look on his face, "It usually has a very pleasant, almost a peaty taste to it."  
"I'll take your word for it."  
"I think she's got a point," Wowryk's voice said, "You're both clearly uncomfortable right now. Just get it over with.  
Stafford sighed.  
"It can't be that bad," Beck snagged a small bit of his pie and popped it in her mouth. "Oh," she spit it out immediately, "Oh shoot. That spleen's gone bad. I'm sorry, I should have checked before I let you eat half of it."  
She started to rise, but one of the waiters caught the look on her face and rushed over.  
"Whatever you do," Beck hissed, "Don't challenge him to Mishtak!"  
"Mish-what?"  
"Is there a problem?" the waiter asked.  
"Bad spleen," Beck said.  
Stafford could have sworn the waiter paled.  
"I will summon Ih'mad at once!" he said, rushing away.  
"Is Ih'mad the owner, or some Andorian cooking deity?" he tried to joke. Was that a twinge in his stomach?  
"The owner," Beck said, "Are you OK? Cramps? Nausea? Explosive bloating?"  
"Um...no?"  
"Oh good. Then we still have time to beam out your stomach contents."  
Staffor grimaced, hoping she was joking. He noticed that she was looking off to the side again. With Yanick's words ringing in his head, he turned to see two Waystation officers, Beck's subordinates, at the table right next to them. They were just in the process of settling up their bill.  
"You didn't ask me here to talk about the Matrian mission," he said flatly as the waiter replaced his dish and apologized profusely. Stafford gently waved away the ceremonial blade geez, he knew Andorians took cooking seriously, but he wasn't about to gut the water over spoiled food! Speaking of which great, now he had to start eating spleen all over again, "There's something else, isn't there?" He was very careful to keep his expression neutral. Whatever she wanted, it wasn't romantic. And he knew enough about women to know that his words could be taken in ways he didn't intend. Ways that wouldn't actually get him answers.  
Beck sighed.  
"No," she said. She looked back over at her officers again, then paused as if collecting her thoughts. "I wanted to talk to you about after the Matrian mission,"  
Stafford blinked.  
"The mission just ended," he said, "Well, OK. It ended months ago, technically. We've been 'advising' since the Qu'Eh were defeated. But we've only been back on ship for a few days!"  
"And?" Beck was staring at her plate, "What was it like, leaving Matrian Space after being there for a year? Moving on to bigger and better things? Or moving back into the old exploration routine?"  
Stafford frowned. He thought back to those dull days in being towed through the slipstream, getting back into some of the more mind-numbing routines of starship life. The mess meeting, secondary duties. The paperwork well, OK the paperwork had been with him all though the Matrian mission. But why on Earth was Beck asking him about that stuff? She had to deal with all of it and more aboard Waystation. She had to deal with a constant flow of new visitors, new problems, new threats, new opportunities but she also had to deal with the Multek Enclave, the Waystation civilian population, her own Wardroom committee.  
His confusion must have shown, because when he turned his attention back to Beck, she was meeting his gaze. And something in the back of his mind told him that she'd noticed that his eyes had finally stopped dipping down to her chest.  
"I'm " Beck hesitated. She waited as the two officers finally finished up and left, then leaned closer to Stafford and dropped her voice. "Have you seen the Captain's merit board results for this year?"  
The merit boards? Those were annual reviews of Starfleet personnel of various rank levels. Performance reviews went up, were tabulated, compared with other statistics, and the highest rated and eligible candidates were evaluated at a board that would determine who, if anyone, was to be promoted. "No, I didn't bother to check it," Stafford said carefully, "I'm not even eligible for promotion yet."  
"I made the merit list," Beck said. She tried to sound casual, but the words dropped like a bombshell over the table, "Upper third,"  
That meant that Captain Beck had a very good chance of becoming Admiral Beck, and very soon. But why would she be telling him? To show off? Stafford disregarded the idea as soon as it surfaced. Beck wasn't the type. So why would she ask him to dinner, ask him numerous questions about being stuck in Matrian Space, then let slip that she was about to be promoted?  
Promoted and very possible transferred. Possibly leaving Waystation. Leaving the Multek Enclave. Stafford's mind did a little flip as he completely re-evaluated his entire relationship with Beck. He'd always liked her she was beautiful, confident, talented, and considering they were both command officers, they had a fair bit in common. But after the incident with Yanick being stuck in his body, his disastrous attempt to explain that incident to Beck, Beck being kidnapped he'd been so distracted with the other things, that he'd forgotten that first and foremost, they were colleagues. She didn't have any other Captains on the station she could have this sort of frank discussion with. Maybe with some of her closer subordinates but then again, maybe not. And even if she could talk to them, or to one of the other Captains that came through the station regularly how many of them had shared her experience of dealing with the same race, the same region of space for months or years at a time? OK, he'd had a year in Matrian space but that was still fifty-five weeks more than most starship Captains had with a planet.  
"There is no catch or scheme with our cargo, is there?" he asked, "You asked me to dinner for a career chat? Advice?"  
"Advice? From a junior Captain that's crashed his ship twice, lost his warp core and was stranded in a time-travelling museum?" Beck rolled her eyes, "Not exactly. But I wanted to get your perspective. Oh. And there IS a catch with your cargo, but I don't think it's likely to be a problem. Morales and Porter are really hoping you'll take a certain item off our hands, but they're worried that if you notice it on the manifest, you'll leave it with us instead,"  
"What is it?" Stafford asked.  
She told him.  
"Oh. Well. Can't say I'm overly happy, but OK. Yeah, Jall can deal with that."  
"Look, I'm sorry if it looked like I was trying to play some sort of romantic angle," Beck said as the waiter brought out their desserts, "My crew they don't know the about promotion yet. I've talked to a few people. My old Captain from the Secondprize a couple of Academy friends. But they were all starship Captains they'd never had a station command, never really had the experience of working long-term with a particular race. I wanted to get your viewpoint, and batting my eyelashes over this cargo thing was the best way to get us away from everyone without making it seem odd. I was going to come clean as soon as we got to the restaurant, but I didn't expect Lt Potts or Ensign Mullis to be at the next table. And really, you and I haven't exactly spent much time together as colleagues."  
"No, I guess not," Stafford gave a look of disgust.  
"You look angry," Beck asked after a moment, "I guess I understand. I wasn't exactly forthcoming."  
"What? NO! Sorry! It's just whatever this cake is, it's got meat in it," Stafford laughed. He realized that no, he wasn't angry. If anything, he was angry at himself. He'd passed through Waystation so many times, he'd been so caught up in thinking about Beck as a woman that he hadn't thought to approach her as a colleague, or a potential friend. Twenty-Fourth century, and he was still behaving like a misogynistic Neanderthal.  
"If you don't want it, I'll eat it," Beck said, seeming to relax a bit.  
"Go for it," Stafford pushed the plate towards her.  
"Thanks." She ate a couple of bites. "I can't imagine turning down the promotion," she said after a few moments, "It's something I've wanted for a long time. So I'm not asking about that. I just I wanted to talk. I've worked with these people for so long. My crew the Multeks the people on the station. We know we can be transferred any time it's the nature of the service. And it happened after the Academy after training. It happened when I left the Secondprize. You leave the people you've come to respect and care for behind, you meet new ones. And life goes on. But "  
Stafford thought back to a moment several months ago. He'd been standing in the lounge of Haven Shipyard Three, Silverado a crippled derelict. His finger had been hovering over the 'Approve' button. Pressing that button would start the reconstruction of his ship. In that one moment, he and his crew had had to decide whether to stay together for another year or two or go their separate ways then and there.  
"Yeah," he said, "I know exactly what you mean."  
"You must be almost due for a transfer, at least," Beck said, "You've done your starship command stint could you be up for a station command next?"  
"Probably not," Stafford shrugged, "Starbase 341 was open while I was out there but they offered it to Wowryk instead."  
"I surprised I'm up for promotion without having a starship command," Beck admitted, "They usually want you to have both,"  
"Guess you're just that good," Stafford joked, gesturing with his empty glass. "Would you like to get a drink?" Beck asked, with a laugh, "Continue the conversation? There's a place on the other side of the mall that has an amazing wine list. Or if beer's more your thing, they've got an old fashioned micro-brewery in the back,"  
"I'd like that," Stafford said, "But why didn't we go there to start with?"  
"Because," Beck gestured across the way to where Porter was strolling out of the pub, "It's taken this long for both our crews to get sufficiently bored of us to move on to other things,"  
Yup, Stafford realized, he and Beck had far more in common than he'd realized.

Jall was rushing through the corridors of Waystation's lower saucer, padd gripped like a weapon.  
"This is the wrong deck, mate," Jeffery said, "The cargo storage is over by our docking arm,"  
"We're not going to cargo storage," Jall said, "I already know what's there!"  
"What is there?" Valtaic asked.  
"A 'dual-phasic quantum probability modulator', according to this cargo manifest," Jall said, looking at the number on the nearest cabin door and moving on, "Shipped to Waystation from Mouvit IV."  
"I have never heard of that piece of equipment, or that planet," Valtaic admitted.  
"Ah haven't heard of the gadget either," Jeffery said, "Pretty sure we didn't ask for it. But Mouvit IV that sounds really familiar "  
"It should," Jall glanced at another door, "There's a major Federation Propulsion Laboratory there. And we've been there. Three years ago."  
"Really?"  
"The ship was nearly destroyed," Jall said. He checked the number on the next door, then pressed his thumb down on the buzzer."  
"Wait " Jeffery's eyes widened.  
The doors hissed open, and a short, smiling Asian woman greeted them.  
"Dr. Cadela," Jall said flatly, "What a pleasure to see you."  
"Commander Jall," the woman's smile widened, "Congratulations on your promotion! I'm very pleased to see you does this mean the Waystation crew was successful in transferring my experiment to your ship?  
"That's whot those blighters were up to!" Jeffery exclaimed, "I remember you! You and your 'Probability Drive'! Yer a bloody menace, woman!"  
Cadela's smile wavered.  
"Yes well," she clasped her hands in front of her, "The Probability Drive never became a reality. But we did learn some very interesting things from that experiment. And Starfleet has a new experiment for me to perform. Waystation had been selected; we were to use the USS Wayward. But when I learned that you were passing through well, your ship AI is FAR more sophisticated than the system I had put together you're far better suited for this!"  
"We'll see about that!" Jall said, reaching for his comm-badge.

"I'm serious," Stafford said, savouring a sip of the dark oatmeal stout he'd been served. Then he took a quick look around and lowered his voice, "I don't know who they are. But they dangled a Vimy-class starship in front of me. All I had to do was send Sylvia off to the Daystrom Institute to be electronically dissected. Or whatever it is they do there."  
"Did you report it?" Beck asked.  
"God no!" Stafford said, "Look, we were caught up in the politics of the whole election thing the Fleet Admiral wouldn't send the ships Matria Prime needed. My old First Officer I don't know the story. But he made some sort of arrangement to go around her and have the USS Medusa sent out. And for some reason, getting Sylvia to agree to go to the Daystrom Institute was part of the payback."  
Now it was Beck's turn to glance nervously round.  
"Why tell me this?" she asked.  
"Because," Stafford said, "If you ARE about to join the Admiralty I just I have the impression that you're going to be playing some bigger games than most of us realize. And maybe more dangerous."  
"Good to know," Beck said.  
"Jall to Stafford," Stafford's badge chirped.  
"Yeah?"  
"Do you KNOW what these Waystation people are planning!? They're trying to push that crazy Probability Drive scientist on us, so we die horribly instead of them!"  
"I know," Stafford said, "Jall, it's fine. Captain Beck told me about the experiment, we're better suited for it anyway,"  
There was silence for a moment.  
"Did she seduce you already? There's no other way she could have convinced you to do I hear a woman laughing? CAN SHE HEAR ME!?"  
Beck was indeed laughing.  
"Jall, just drop it," Stafford said, "I'm approving the cargo transfer list."  
"But-"  
"And you KNOW she didn't seduce me, we all know she'd never," Stafford stopped, Beck was shaking her head. Right. They had a role to play.  
"Uh I mean Look, she's in the washroom right now. And I'm sure that if I take care of this problem for her, my chances will be a lot better!"  
"Don't be an idiot-"  
"Stafford out!" he closed the channel.  
"Did I have to do that?" he asked Beck, "We know there's zero chance of us sleeping together. My crew knows it. Your crew knows it."  
"You're right," Beck sighed, "I don't know why I'm keeping this a secret from them. The whole thing seems so childish, now that I think about it."  
"Maybe," Stafford shrugged, "But on the other hand, this is a REALLY good stout next rounds on me, if you tell me what happened with those aliens that kidnapped you? My Security Chief wouldn't stop talking about how amazing your station phaser banks were for weeks after that incident."  
"Well," Beck signalled the waiter, "As it turned out "  
Stafford leaned back and listened as Beck told her story. OK, so he didn't get a date out of the deal. And he wasn't getting laid. And now his ship was going to have to take part in some sort of experiment. But Waystation had been one of their regular ports of call over the past several years and he'd come to realize what a big mistake he'd made in not trying harder to build a professional relationship with the Waystation crew. They actually seemed like a pretty good bunch, especially compared to the yahoos running Starbase 341. And with Beck likely being promoted soon this was probably his last chance to talk to her as a colleague and fellow captain.  
Yeah, he decided, this whole thing was definitely a big win after all.

The next day

"Starbase Waystation, this is USS Silverado, requesting permission to depart," Jall said, his tone annoyed as he leaned on the comm button.  
The screen flickered, and Captain Beck appeared on the screen, her Ops staff visible behind her.  
"USS Silverado, you are cleared to depart," she said pleasantly, "Good luck, and safe travels,"  
"You as well," Stafford said, giving her a small wave.  
"Waystation out,"  
The screen went blank.  
"Clear moorings," Stafford ordered, "Set course to 329 mark eight. One quarter impulse, bring us to Warp 5 once we've cleared the station.  
"Aye sir," Yanick said from the helm, "And may I say, what the hell?"  
"Yeah," Jall said, turning to look angrily at him, "What the hell?"  
"What?" Stafford asked innocently.  
"You didn't get laid," Yanick said, "I can tell. So what's with the dangerous mission? And why is Captain Beck suddenly being so nice to you?"  
Stafford realized most of his officers were staring at him expectantly. OK, well he wasn't going to tell any secrets. And he and Beck had agreed the whole subterfuge thing had been childish, anyway.  
"Look, Captain Beck and I went for dinner and we had a professional conversation," he said, "She had some questions about the Matrian mission, then we talked about this thing with Dr Cadela-"  
"Who is now setting up her insane experiment in Science Lab Two!" Sylvia said angrily.  
"And we came to an understanding, OK?" Stafford shrugged, "Turns out we had a lot to talk about. We were swapping stories until midnight,"  
"You had dinner, then swapped stories?" Yanick sounded skeptical, "That's it?"  
"Yup."  
"Fine," Jall said, "If you don't want to tell us what really happened, don't. I don't know what she did maybe it's better than I don't. But if we all die horribly tomorrow, I'm totally blaming her!"  
"You do that," Stafford chuckled.  
"We've cleared the station," Yanick reported.  
Stafford looked at the screen, at the empty starfield in front of them. He could feel the warp core thrumming deep below decks, the ship ready to stretch her legs for the first time in months. He thought about Beck, and the changes she was about to face.  
Maybe one day his turn would come. Either promotion or more likely a transfer. But for the moment, this was HIS ship again. Boring meetings and all.  
And it was time to get back to work.


	17. 16 - Split Views

6.16 'Split Views'

Stafford wasn't sure when it had happened. It was hard to predict...sometimes it took months, sometimes years. It crept up on him, unnoticed and oddly unexpected. But when it was missing, he sure noticed it.  
After the time spent sleeping on a cot in Haven while the city was underground, after the months in various apartments in Matronus and Haven and after several weeks on a cramped bunk in the back of a runabout, Stafford couldn't believe just how GOOD it was to be sleeping in his own bed again. Deck 2 was far from both the warp core and impulse engines, so the vibration of the fusion and antimatter reactions were barely audible...even less so after the rebuild. Although he was above-average height, he didn't really have room for anything bigger than the standard bed. But at least there was nothing that prevented his feet from hanging off the end, unlike the runabout where he had to either fold his knees up or somehow angle himself to mostly fit. The end result was that in even the brief time he'd been back aboard Silverado, he felt like he'd caught up on sleep right back to before the Qu'Eh invasion.  
Which was why he was double surprised when the bed bucked beneath him, tossing him to the carpeted deck as the entire ship shook.  
"Red alert! All hands to battle-stations, Captain Stafford to the bridge!"

Jeffery wasn't sleeping well at all. He kept shifting, grumbling unhappily as his tired, abused body tried to get comfortable. The sounds of people talking, occasionally laughing, along with the strong THRUM of the warp core didn't help. But really, the biggest issue was that he'd fallen asleep at his desk...again. If he'd had the brains to realize when he was done for the day and had actually ridden the turbolift up to his quarters, he'd probably be doing a lot better.  
"Simon," a voice called out gently. Jeffery replied by drooling on the oversized padd displaying ship schematics, "Simon, you should probably wake up now,"  
"Uuuggghhhh," Jeffery grunted, straining to open his eyes and figure out just what torturous hell-demon was tormenting him. Slowly, he realized Sylvia's face was staring out at him from his computer display.  
"Whot time is it?" he groaned.  
"0355 hours, ship time," Sylvia said, "But Simon-"  
"Och! We're supposed to start that stupid test in less than five hours!" he picked up the big padd, stared at it for a moment, then flipped it right-side-up.  
"Wait, nay," he said, flipping it back again. He frowned, then flipped it a third time. "Is the port SIF generator pair on Deck 14 outboard or inboard of the IDF generator pair?"  
Sylvia's eyes glanced at the padd, which immediately went dark.  
"We have a ship on an intercept course," Sylvia said, "I thought you might want to know about that, considering you've passed out in the most casualty-prone section of the ship,"  
"Are we under attack?" Jeffery shot up in his seat.  
"No," Sylvia said. He relaxed. "Not yet, anyway. But I'm fairly certain that they plan to hail us, make some unreasonable demand, then open fire,"  
"Why do ye...do they outgun us?"  
"I don't think so," "Then why would they attack?"  
"Simon, I'm learning a lot of interesting things about organic behaviour," Sylvia said thoughtfully, "And now that I have my full processing capabilities back, I've been thinking more about them. I have about three hundred possible reasons for their behaviour, which I expect to collapse down to less than four after they hail us,"  
"Have ye warned the bridge?" the fog was starting to fade from Jeffery's brain.  
"No," she said calmly.  
"Jeffery to-"  
"Simon, I didn't warn them because they already know," Sylvia cut him off, "They detected them on long -range sensors over an hour ago. They've scanned them thoroughly, including their weaponry. Commander Jall is on the bridge, ready to summon Chris if necessary. Every other ship in the fleet does just fine without me, after all."  
"Then why are ye tellin' me all this?"  
"Because, Simon," Sylvia said patiently, "Your desk, on which your head was resting, is less than two meters from a primary coolant loop. A direct hit on this deck would have had a 43% chance of irradiating you from the shoulders up before you even knew what had happened.  
"Oh." Jeffery gulped.  
"Simon?" Sylvia said after a moment.  
"Whot?"  
"I think a 'thank you' is in order "  
The ship shook, cutting off Jeffery's reply.

"Right, report!" Stafford barked as he stormed out of the turbolift and onto Silverado's bridge and nearly fell over the tactical rail as the ship bucked again.  
"Was that thing always so close to the turbolift?" he grumbled as he moved to his seat. Silverado's bridge had never seemed small before, but that was before he'd spent months in Haven's huge command center.  
"It's an Andorian raider," Jall reported, "They came in-"  
"They came in on an intercept course," Lt Pye interrupted, "asking if we'd be willing to trade replicator mass for medical supplies."  
"Until they came into sensor range," Lt Burke spoke up from Sciences, "and we saw all the Breen life-signs,"  
"Right, thanks," Jall looked annoyed at the interruptions, "And now they're shooting at us!"  
"Shields-" Lt Bithe was cut off as T'Parief popped out of the turbolift and pushed her away from the Tactical panel.  
"Shields are at 80 percent," he said sharply, "Their shields are at 60 percent. Our torpedo tubes are loaded, phasers are charging from the last volley and the forward phaser cannon is at 70 percent charge,"  
"And we-" Jall started, but was again cut off.  
"Disable their engines," Stafford ordered, "Come about to uh, which way are we pointed right now?"  
"We-" Jall started.  
"One-two-two mark six-five," Pye said. The turbolift opened again, this time Yanick and Valtaic jumped out and moved toward their stations.  
"Evasive Delta-one," Stafford ordered.  
"I already-" Jall raised a finger.  
"Yeah, one second," Yanick said, settling into the helm, "Pye has the controls setup weird again,"  
"Do not!"  
"Did you hail them?" Stafford asked Jall.  
"They-  
"Communication logs show they refused several hails," T'Parief said, "Phaser cannon is almost ,"  
"Oh for you realize that by now we could have blown then up at least twice," Jall sighed, "Instead we're doing nice little hand-overs, and briefings, and making sure everybody is up to speed on everything. Well, except for me. My replacement doesn't want a hand-over."  
"Sure I do," Stafford said cheerfully, "It's just that everyone's beating you to the punch. You know just how much I value and respect your input,"  
"I-"  
"All weapons ready," T'Parief reported.  
"Fire," Stafford ordered.  
On the screen, several bright red phaser beams connected with the raider, its shields shimmering as they tried to absorb the energy. A bloom of light appeared as the raider fired a torpedo at them. It crashed into the shields, shaking the ship but doing little damage. Stafford looked surprised.  
"Shouldn't someone's console be exploding by now?" he wondered. On the screen the raider unleashed another volley of phasers and another torpedo. The ship shook, but the shields took the brunt of the impact.  
This time when the turbolift doors opened, Jeffery stepped out.  
"Simon? Did you guys upgrade our shields during the rebuild?"  
"Whot? Nay. Well, sort of. They're the same Mark-IX generators we've had for years but the original Ambassador-class had Mark-VIs. Why?"  
"Will you guys just shut up and blow up the bad guys?" Jall was sounding bored now.  
"Hold on," Jeffery said. He moved to the Engineering station and started tapping away at the panel.  
"T'Parief?" Stafford followed Jeffery to the aft deck, "Could you shoot them a few more times? Get their weapons offline at least?"  
"They surrendered ten seconds ago," T'Parief said. "I was waiting until you finished your discussion."  
Jall pulled out a set of clippers and began grooming his nails.  
"Well, I guess that's lunch, then," he said, glancing at the ship's chrono, "Or breakfast, actually."  
"Nobody is going to have any appetite if you don't put those away," Yanick said.  
"Girl, please," Jall glanced at her, "If we can eat with you breast-feeding in every room of the ship, you can handle a few nail clippings,"  
"Breast-feeding is a natural, beautiful-"  
"Both of you, please," Fifebee was looking even paler than usual, "I may not eat but I may yet vomit."  
"Yer right about the shields," Jeffery said to Stafford as he tapped away at his console, "Shield effectiveness was over 20% better than what we had before. Ooch, I knew those generators were underperforming! Ah wonder whot fixed it, the emitter array rebuilds, or-"  
"Ah, good morning everyone!" Dr Cadela stepped out of the turbolift, "Sorry to interrupt, but what was all the shaking about? Will we be starting the tests on time? I believe we have a meeting first thing in the morning?"  
Jall took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

"Well, you seemed to be having a good time!" Sylvia said as Stafford sat in his ready room. It wasn't his shift yet, but he was monitoring the boarding operation as the Hazardous Team took control of the raider. Actually, T'Parief was doing the actual monitoring. Stafford couldn't watch them work anymore, always certain that the next action was going to bring total disaster. But for the same reason, he couldn't sleep while the HT was on a mission.  
"What's that?" Stafford asked innocently.  
"The way you guys were antagonizing Jall!"  
"Total coincidence, Sylvia," Stafford waved her away, "I didn't get called to the bridge until they'd attacked. You know perfectly well that I couldn't have coordinated a joke like that if I'd wanted to."  
"But you still took every chance to needle him. Even though the ship was in danger!"  
"Sylvia," Stafford groaned, "Look, it was just a raider! They weren't a real threat."  
"How could you know that? And didn't it occur to you that if they weren't a threat, it was pretty stupid of them to attack us! They could have had any number of tricks up their sleeves!"  
"Or they might have been stupid," Stafford said.  
"Or desperate," Sylvia shot back. "Which makes them a bigger potential threat."  
"We beat them," Stafford said, "The HT is securing the ship and taking the crew into custody. Any minute now, T'Parief will be calling me to say that the ship is under our control."  
"Oh really," Sylvia said flatly, "And you don't find that odd? We just get randomly attacked by a bunch of Breen in an Andorian raider, even though they had no chance. And now they just give up and let the Hazardous Team arrest them?"  
"We'll be careful," Stafford grimaced, "Besides, there are a lot of stupid people out there. Maybe we finally got lucky,"  
"T'Parief to Stafford," 'See', Stafford mouthed silently to Sylvia, who merely rolled her eyes.  
"Yes?"  
"The Breen have been captured. Lt Marsden was struck unconscious when one of the Breen threw a boot at his head. Lt Rengs suffered a crushed ankle in a door malfunction, and Crewman Kreklor assaulted what turned out to be a Breen plant," the big reptile paused, "You know what this means."  
"Valtaic won the betting pool again," Stafford grumbled, "Fine, I'll pay up later. In the meantime, get the senior staff into the conference room, we have dangerous technology to play with,"

"OK people," Stafford said, getting to his feet as Valtaic and T'Parief took their places at the conference room table, "We have a brig full of Breen, an extra ship kicking around, and a crazy, wild-eyed woman who claims to be a scientist wanting to do an experiment. Where do we stand?"  
"Right behind you," Dr. Cadela said, making Stafford jump. He closed his eyes, then turned to Jall.  
"Why didn't you tell me she was there?"  
"I know how much you value my input," Jall replied, looking innocent.  
"The Breen have been secured," T'Parief said, "And we have raised the temperature of every compartment around the brig from 'Starfleet Standard Comfort' to 'Midday on Vulcan's Forge'. They do not even wish to consider escape."  
Stafford shot Jall a look that said 'Why can't you be more like him?', then nodded.  
"Good. Valtaic, the ship?"  
"We should return it to Waystation. Starfleet will decide if it is to be dismantled or moved elsewhere for study,"  
"The Breen aren't a priority at the moment," T'Parief grumbled, "We could use it for target practice,"  
"Plan A," Stafford pointed to Valtaic, then pointed to T'Parief, "Plan B. OK, that's the easy part. Dr. Cadela? How may we help you? Quickly, I hope,"  
"Hello everyone," she said, flashing the same bright smile that had so unnerved everyone during their first experience with the woman, "I'd like to introduce my assistant, Alfredo."  
"What happened to Spork?" Sylvia asked flatly. She didn't exactly look happy to see Cadela, no surprise given the last experience.  
"Ah, such a nice young man," Cadela shook her head, her smile becoming somewhat wistful but not fading, "I'm afraid he's just a bit too high-strung for this sort of work. The last I heard, he was doing graduate work with the Warp Propulsion Laboratory in the Sol system. More traditional research. But Mr. Alfredo is very well qualified, and has a genuine flare for this sort of work!"  
"He's going to break in half if the gravity goes sideways on itself again," Dr. Wowryk said flatly, eyeing the somewhat frail-looking older man.  
"That's not going to happen," Cadela waved the concern away, "And really, sidewise gravity? How impossible!"  
"But-"  
"Let me guess," Jeffery asked, leaning forward eagerly, "Another experimental propulsion system? Cuz the Probability Drive actually was kinda neat,"  
"Simon!" Sylvia snapped.  
"Well, other than nearly killin' us all," Jeffery looked down at the table.  
"I've moved on from that project," Cadela's smile was starting to show signs of strain, "Actually, my new project only requires conventional systems, on a small ship which is why I had planned to do the testing near Waystation with their support vessel. But they were worried about the risk of incidental civilian deaths or some other such nonsense. And when I found out that a ship I was familiar with would be docking soon "  
"Uh-huh," Jall said flatly, "Wouldn't it have been easier to use a ship that wasn't on to just how bat-shit crazy your last scheme turned out?"  
"Jall," Stafford sounded tired, "It wasn't actually her fault,"  
"No? She didn't build the crazy thing?"  
"Chris is actually right," Sylvia admitted grudgingly, "It was her invention, but it was a freak accident."  
"Forgiveness is divine," Wowryk folded her hands in front of her, "And we have enough people who have tried to kill us on purpose that we needn't be rude to those who nearly killed us by accident,"  
Stafford looked at her blankly.  
"That sounded better in your head, didn't it?" Yanick asked her.  
"It did," Wowryk admitted.  
"Well, I'm glad we're able to put that behind us," Cadela beamed, "Now, let me introduce my new project-"  
"Is it the Probability Drive 2.0?" Jall asked.  
"No, it's-"  
"The Pulsating Squeeze Probability Drive?" Yanick asked.  
"It-"  
"Guys," Stafford groaned.  
"I thought they were putting the past behind them?" Mr. Alfredo quietly asked the nearest Silverado crewman, Valtaic.  
"Indeed," Valtaic murmured back, "However most of these officers can be, as humans say, assholes."  
"The Quantum Probability Resonator?" Jeffery ventured.  
"No!" Cadela's smile was near the failing point, "Actually, sort of,"  
"Is it the wait, what?" Jall did a double take.  
"May I introduce you," Cadela tapped a small handheld and a hologram appeared over the table, "to the Probabilistic Exoversal Navigation Interphase System!"  
There was dead silence in the room for a moment.  
"Oh. My. GOD!" Jall's eyes were wide.  
"I know, right?" Yanick clapped her hands.  
"I had no idea," Stafford gasped, "That's that's amazing!"  
"I know you said they'd appreciate the acronym," Alfredo mumbled to Cadela, "But I didn't think they'd be so enthusiastic."  
"When did we get a holographic display built into the conference room?" Yanick asked, waving her hand through the space between the table and the floating image, completely ignoring Cadela, "I mean, I like it! But Simon, when did you put this in?"  
"Surprise!" Jeffery said, "Ah figured we'd upgrade!"  
"Simon, I love it!" Stafford had jumped to his feet and was examining new display, "Man, what's the display field radius? Can we use the conference room for movie nights now?"  
Cadela shook her head in frustration.  
"It's a device for travelling to different universes!" she interrupted, "Universes similar to our own, but where different choices have led to things developing in new, exciting and different ways!"  
There was silence around the table for a moment.  
"We have already travelled to another universe," Fifebee frowned, "In fact, Starfleet has done that several times,"  
"The universe where we all had obnoxiously perfect versions of ourselves," Jall said.  
"Well, perfect other than being screwed-up in new, exciting and different ways," Stafford added.  
"The evil Mirror Universe," Sylvia spoke from her display screen, "Discovered by the Enterprise, then DS9,"  
"The equally evil Happyverse," Jall put in, "The one K'Eleese was so eager to get to that she started kidnapping and torturing Ops officers. No, you're fine," Jall had noticed Valtaic giving him a concerned side-eye.  
"And each encounter has relied on accidents, bizarre transporter malfunctions, wormhole weirdness, huge amounts of energy or the combined efforts of members of each universe," Cadela said, "But in reviewing the data on the Probability Drive, I believe I've discovered a way for a ship to pass easily through the barriers between universes!"  
"You were paying attention to the other universes we were talking about, right?" Yanick asked her, "Because none of them are nice places to visit. At all."  
"But imagine! We could see what might have happened if Admiral Janeway had won the Presidential Election! Or-"  
"Or if the Dominion had won the war," Valtaic said calmly, "This concept is poorly considered,"  
"Well," Cadela huffed, her smile now somewhat condescending, "I don't expect everyone to grasp the significance of this discovery!"  
"Let's just test the thing," Stafford blew out a breath, "If it turns out like the LAST test we did for you, it may not be much of a discovery. What do we do?"  
"First, we select a universe," Cadela nodded to Alfredo, who began walking around the room with what looked like a heavily modified tricorder. He ran it over Stafford, then frowned. He turned and pointed the business end of the device at Jall, tapped a button, then moved to Valtaic.  
"And we do that by ?"  
"Each universe has a unique quantum phasic signature," Alfredo explained. He paused, shook his head, then moved to Yanick, "All matter in that universe shares it. But certain places or beings connected to significant decision points have variances. If they're strong enough, these can point us to a parallel universe that split off because of events involving that place. Or person."  
"Well," Jeffery puffed his chest, "We're one of Starfleet's finest uh one of Starfleet's crews! Ah'm sure we've done a lot of things that changed the course of history!"  
"So if you skipped over us " Stafford trailed off.  
"Well, I wouldn't worry about it too much," Cadela's smile faltered. She actually looked genuinely flustered, "I mean, it may just be that whatever you've done to change the course of history happened too long ago. Or perhaps it was merely a minor event."  
"Getting a vasectomy could change the course of history," Wowryk crossed her arms.  
"Ahem. Only for the right person," Cadela said, patting Jall on the shoulder, "Some people it wouldn't make a difference at all,"  
"Bitch," Jall muttered.  
Alfredo was about to move on from scanning Wowryk, when his device let out a beep.  
"I've got one!" he said, "It's faint it may have happened a while ago. But definitely a variance! Give me a few hours with the science lab computers and I'll have a destination vector calculated!"  
"Sylvia?" Stafford prompted, "I'm sure you could help them out,"  
"That's really not necessary," Cadela said.  
"Ohhh, yes it is," Stafford, Jall, Fifebee and Wowryk all said together. Valtaic and T'Parief also objected, though the former with a disapproving grunt and the latter with a simple 'It is'.  
"I very well."  
"OK people, meeting's over," Stafford said, "We'll test this thing when Cadela and Alfredo are ready."  
He looked briefly around the table, then stepped quickly towards the door.

Jall stepped out of the turbolift on Deck 30, looked around for a moment to get his bearings, then started walking down the corridor. Cadela and Alfredo had been holed up in Science Lab 2 for over an hour, and although Sylvia had assured him that they're weren't doing anything dangerous, she refused to go into further detail, citing an End-User Privacy clause.  
He stopped, frowned, then turned around and backtracked to the last corridor intersection. Paused for a moment, thinking back to the directions Sylvia had given him. Left, left, right or was it port, port, starboard? He was about to call Sylvia again for help when he realized there was a better way to find what he was after.  
Back when the old Constitution-class ships had been refitted, right before the V'ger incident, there had been a push by several non-human races to include ship amenities that catered to entertainment tastes other than that of the largely human ship designers. Most of them hadn't actually made it past the design stage nobody was willing to sign off on an Andorian Mishtak pit. But one element that had made it right through to production had been a series of Vulcan meditation alcoves set off a quiet section of the secondary hull. Over the course of the years, they'd remained a part of new starship classes. Not because Vulcans were lining up to use them. And not because other races were lining up to meditate or do their Hot Yoga in them either although they were commonly used for that original purpose. No, on ships with crews numbering in the hundreds and with significant numbers of those crewmembers living in shared quarters, the meditation alcoves had become convenient, private places to uh get intimate. There had been a brief attempt to remove them during the design of the Galaxy-class ships, what with the expansion in personal space those massive ships allowed. But somehow every time they were removed from the schematics some high-ranking, former starship officer managed to sneak them back on.  
All this to say, all Jall had to do was listen carefully until he heard the muffled sound of moaning, and he knew he'd come to the right place. He quickly found the alcove Stafford was said to be in, double checked to be sure everything was quiet, then stepped in. Sure enough, Stafford was seated in one of the padded benches, looking out into space. A small table sat between the two benches, a flickering fake candle reflecting off the window.  
"Jall," Stafford looked annoyed, but only moderately so, "You know, if I'd wanted to talk to people, I would have gone to Unbalanced Equations. Or stayed in the gym. Or gone to the arboretum or something!"  
"And if you wanted to be completely alone, you would have gone to the holodeck and locked the doors," Jall shot back.  
"What do you want?"  
"Well, since we all just got told that nothing we've done in our lives had a significant impact on the universe, I figured it was time for a drink," he pulled a bottle around from his back, "And really, I think vodka is the only thing you and I both drink,"  
From the next cubical over there was the crack of a whip, then a cry of pain. Then a woman's voice, harsh and commanding.  
"Was that Crewman Shwaluk and Nurse Kerry?" Jall frowned, "Why aren't they in her quarters?"  
"Neighbors were complaining about the noise," Stafford said, "And little kids live two doors down. So I guess Kerry and the local BDSM club turned one of the alcoves into a dungeon. So they don't have to bother anyone."  
There was another crack, another shout of pain. And some words that shall not be repeated.  
"Anyone on the residential decks," Stafford amended, "And I guess people meditating don't complain as much."  
"How did I miss that?" Jall wondered, taking a seat across from Stafford and setting the bottle down on the table.  
"That the BDSM club has a dungeon?"  
"No!" Jall produced a pair of glasses, then poured a fingers worth in each, "That we have a BDSM club on board!"  
Stafford chuckled. The whip cracked again.  
"Why are you so calm? Doesn't that get annoying?" Jall asked, "Or disturbing? You always struck me as the squeamish, vanilla type. And before you answer that, no. I don't really want to know."  
"And I'm not planning on telling you," Stafford shot back. He paused for moment, thinking, "I thought it would, when they got started. I was getting ready to tinker with the sound-suppression fields, or move to an alcove further down the hall. But the thing is, it's actually made me think of something very comforting."  
"Uh-huh," Jall said flatly.  
"It reminds me," Stafford mused, as the whip cracked again, "That although life might not be at a high point, and I may just have been told that I haven't done anything significant in the eyes of the universe at least I'm not strapped down, stripped naked and having my ass whipped raw."  
Jall blinked, then raised his glass.  
"You're right," he said, "To not being tied up, naked and whipped!"  
They drank.  
"Do you think she's right?" Stafford asked after a moment, "I mean, her little sensor gizmo. Have we actually done nothing that's changed the course of history? I guess crashing on Delorea 2 didn't really do anything, since they hit the big reset button anyway. But I was the f**king Minister of Planetary Defense for the Matrian Republic! We fought off the Qu'Eh invasion, we captured K'Eleese. We stopped T'Parief's father well, OK maybe we didn't stop him. But we made sure the Parians were uh. Whatever. They're an intelligent race now, not mindless battle slaves. And the crew of the Stallion must have accomplished something useful they never would have launched without us! And Lord Stalart man, if Wowryk had found a food he was allergic to, we could have eliminated an evil dictator without even knowing it! Why are you looking at me like that?"  
Jall took another sip of his drink, but before he could say anything the door opened and Yanick popped her head in.  
"Oh, I am SO glad it's you guys," she said, "I was scared it was going to be a naked guy getting whipped,"  
"Scared?"  
"Uh, T'Parief and I are into sports gear, not bondage," Yanick said, giving an expression that was one part 'ha ha' with one part 'get real', "And that's only because of the claws. And the fangs. And the elbow spars."  
"Y'know Trish," Jall said, "If we wanted to talk to people, we'd be in Unbal-"  
"Skip it. You'd be in your room with the door locked," she turned to Stafford, "And you'd be in the holodeck. Now gimmi," she reached for the bottle.  
"I only brought two glasses," Jall said.  
"Didn't ask for a glass," Yanick shot back.  
"Maybe we'd have better luck at changing the course of history if we didn't drink so much," Stafford mused.  
"Good luck with that," Yanick giggled, "So, who's going to go talk to Noel?"  
Both Jall and Stafford looked confused.  
"Why would we talk to her?" Jall asked, "She's the only one that didn't get told they were completely irrelevant in the cosmic scheme of things,"  
"Uh, duh, because she just found out that she did something that changed the course of history," Yanick said.  
"Isn't Jeffery comforting her over tea or something?" Jall asked.  
"Not exactly " Jeffery poked his head in from behind Yanick, "Och. Did ye bring nothin' other than that Eastern European swill?"  
"It's getting crowded in here," Stafford complained as Yanick squeezed onto the bench next to him. Jeffery was about to sit next to Jall, then changed his mind and stayed standing. The whip cracked again, and Jeffery jumped.  
"Can't we just go to Unbalanced Equations?" he whined, "That's where Noel is anyway. Waitin' for someone to come talk to her. But it's not gonna be me!"  
Stafford sighed.  
"Fifebee to Stafford," the comm chirped, "Dr Cadela and Mr. Alfredo have completed their calculations we are ready to begin the test,"  
"Thanks, Fifebee," Stafford tapped his badge, "Stafford to Wowryk, Doctor, meet us on the bridge, Stafford out."  
"Saved by the comm," Jall observed, getting up to leave.  
"You can't just ignore the whole thing!" Yanick said, stepping out of the alcove so Stafford and Jall could get out, "She's worried!"  
"Not enough to come talk to any of us poor saps who found out we're unimportant," Jall noted. "I'll ask her when we get to the bridge," Stafford said, leading the way to the turbolift.

Stafford actually spent most of the turbolift ride to the bridge thinking about what he could say to Wowryk. OK, so he really didn't feel like discussing why she was so much more important to the universe than the rest of them but at the same time, Yanick was right. She could be dealing with something big. And he'd been working hard to stay on friendly terms with her.  
So he was a bit annoyed when the turbolift opened to the sound of Sylvia's voice.  
"Well of course it's going to be a lot to take in," Sylvia's holographic avatar was saying to Wowryk, "But won't it be interesting to see what it is you did? Why, it could be any of the patients you saved! Imagine, just administering a vaccine to the right person at the right time could have been it!"  
"It was the Matrians," Fifebee declared flatly from her console, "It is obvious. It is painfully obvious. It is so amazingly obvious that I cannot comprehend how your logic processors even allow you to consider otherwise,"  
"It's highly probable," Sylvia admitted with a sniff, "That doesn't mean it's certain. Why, there could be many ways she's changed the course of history! There might be dozens of parallel universes, and we'll be creating dozens more, one in which we visited each of those!"  
"Stop, you're making my data recursion prevention subroutines twitchy!" Fifebee complained.  
"Off the hook!" Jall muttered as they took their seats.  
"Let's get this over with," Stafford grumbled, "Cadela, how does this work? Do we just fire up the drive to 88% light-speed, or something similarly random?"  
"No, we can't have any subspace interference with the process," Cadela said, "And getting to that high a velocity on impulse alone poses too many issues. No, for a vessel of this size, given the brief period the portal will be open, I estimate 65,954,340.76 meter per second."  
"88% impulse," Fifebee said immediately.  
"Of course," Stafford rolled his eyes.  
"My turn," Jall said, "I'm guessing you're going to divert power from the warp core to the navigational deflector, which will be modified with some funky piece of tech,"  
"Exactly," Cadela looked impressed, "You reviewed the mission brief that thoroughly?"  
"No," Stafford said, "These things are just getting really predictable. OK, power to the um "  
"Probabilistic Exoversal Navigation Interphase System," Alfredo supplied helpfully.  
"We're not calling it that," Yanick said from the helm, tapping in the commands, "And we're not using the acronym either! Even we aren't that low-class!"  
"Uni-Pick 3000?" Jall suggested.  
"More like 'Uni-Prick", Stafford grunted.  
"Slipgate?" Jeffery wondered, "Valtaic? Any good Lithinarian suggestions?"  
"I have no desire to participate in this foolishness. I am simply waiting to press the 'on' button on command,"  
"Channel Changer?" Jall added.  
"The Blinker," Stafford decided, "OK, Jeffery, transfer power to the Blinker and the navigational deflector. Yanick, bring us up to eighty-eight percent impulse,"  
"Everything appears to be in order," Cadela sounded excited as she looked over Fifebee's shoulder, "All readings are nominal. Helmsman, ease the velocity up to eighty-eight, if we overshoot we may hit the portal before it fully opens,"  
"Of course," Yanick said, then muttered, "I totally know how to drive this ship,"  
"The Breen ship has disappeared from sensors," T'Parief said suddenly.  
"What about the prisoners?" Stafford demanded.  
"Still in the brig,"  
"You want me to stop?" Yanick asked.  
"No," Stafford said after a moment, "the ship was empty. We'll pick it up when we get back,"  
"Eighty percent,"  
"Hmmm," T'Parief grumbled.  
"What?" Jall asked.  
"Minor anomaly on the aft sensor array," T'Parief said, "Right near our blind spot,"  
"OK, maybe we should-" Stafford started.  
"Eighty-eight!" Yanick called.  
There was a bright flash of light from the screen, then the loudest, deepest ripping sound anyone had every heard like somebody had grabbed a two-foot thick tarp and just punched a hole in it. Immediately following was an equally loud CRASH. The ship bucked briefly, but when the light faded, the starfield was unchanged.  
"Report?" Stafford asked, "Also, ouch," he rubbed his ears.  
"Yeah, Doc," Yanick asked, "Did we, like, just tear the universe a new one?"  
"The weakness in the space-time barrier will make it easier to return, assuming we return to this-"  
"Brig to bridge," the voice of Lt Kennardy broke over the comm, "Uh, Captain, the Breen are demanding to speak to you,"  
Stafford frowned.  
"Yeah? And people on Vulcan want ice water. What's your point?"  
"They're not Breen,"

Stafford stormed into the brig, right after T'Parief and another security officer. Jall was on the bridge, beginning sensor sweeps of their new universe, but Valtiac had come with him in case he needed any lies detected.  
"OK, what's the story?" Stafford demanded, "I thought we'd run life scans on them!"  
"You did," drawled an unfamiliar voice, "These suits are modified to hide our life-sign readings,"  
"And who the hell are you?" Stafford turned to the brig. The 'Breen' prisoners had removed their helmets, revealing a few humans, a Deltan, a Rigillian and a couple of individuals of indeterminate race.  
"Commander Joss Phulluvit, Starfleet Special Recon," the lead human said, giving Stafford a haughty expression, "Computer! Decrypt and display briefing message, code-word Looking Glass Theta-Bravo,"  
"You have to-" Stafford was about to mention Sylvia, but before he could the voice of the standard ship computer replied. On a screen behind the fake Breen, Sylvia appeared briefly, shook her head, then disappeared.  
"Decoding message," the computer voice stated flatly. This time it was the big screen behind the transporter panel that came to life.  
"Captain Stafford," the image of Admiral Edward Tunney appeared, "if you're seeing this, then you've survived Dr Cadela's experiment and have arrived in a new, unknown universe. It also means that I owe Fleet Admiral Ra'al two hundred credits, and that my wife is going to be pissed that she's not getting a new auto-chef this month. So thank you for that,"  
"Did we just get blamed for his gambling problem?" T'Parief asked.  
"Yup,"  
"In any event, you are now one of the first Federation vessels to voluntarily and purposefully travel to a new, unknown universe. Your mission is to make covert contact with whatever organization most resembles the Federation, access their historical database and ascertain just how their universe is different from ours and why. The vessel you captured should have followed you through under computer control and will assist with that, as will Commander Phulluvit and his team. They will handle the actual infiltration,"  
Tunney paused.  
"Why us?" Stafford asked, "Why would they pick us for this?"  
"If you're wondering why you were picked for this mission, frankly you're our second choice. We wanted Waystation, since they've had a lot more experience with this sort of thing. But between concerns over the station's civilian population and you volunteering to handle Dr. Cadela's test for them, well this actually worked out well. You're certainly more expendable than a major outpost or its command crew,"  
Stafford glared at the screen. Tunney may not have seen it, but he seemed to realize maybe that wasn't the best thing to say.  
"Good luck," he finished, then the screen went dark.  
"Tough break," Phulluvit said, "So, how about we get out of this brig and into some guest quarters, Captain Expendable?"  
"Before you make too many jokes about our expendability," Valtaic said, very matter-of-fact, "consider that we are responsible for your passage, extraction and return home. If we are expendable you must be toxic,"  
Stafford bit his lip.  
"Kennardy, let them out. T'Parief, I want their identities fully verified before they're released to guest quarters."  
"Bridge to Stafford," Jall's voice came over the comm, "We've got a problem. You need to get up here. Now."  
"Never a dull moment," Stafford gulped, moving towards the exit.

"They just popped up on sensors," Jall said as Stafford stepped out of the turbolift and took his seat, "Two ships, right on course for Waystation. Or where Waystation would be in our universe,"  
"Do we know what kind of ships?" Stafford asked.  
"Yes we do," Fifebee spoke up, "And I wish to say: I told you so. Because tell you all I did."  
"Wha?"  
"They're Matrian," T'Parief said, resuming his place at tactical, "Scouts, like the ships we encountered after our initial launch. Small, quick, but minimal weapons."  
"They could be allies," Stafford said, not sounding very confident, "Have they detected us?"  
"I do not think so. They are near the edge of our sensor range,"  
"Hold position," Stafford ordered Yanick, "But stay out of the Matrian's sensor range. Jall, have Jeffery meet us in Sickbay, then we need to talk to our 'guests',"

Dr. Wowryk was sitting in her office when Stafford and Jeffery arrived.  
"Here for the intervention?" she asked mildly, "Or is it VD Awareness Day again already?"  
"How's it going?" Stafford said, ignoring the jab.  
"Well, as I told Sylvia, it's not exactly low-pressure learning that I may have changed the entire course of history," Wowryk said, "But at the same time, the universe uh, universes, unfold as God wills. If I am his instrument, then so be it,"  
"We detected Matrian ships," Stafford said, "They're on course for Waystation. We don't know why. I'm about to go talk to our guests about a scouting mission of our own,"  
"And?" Wowryk asked, "Does that involve me in some way?"  
"Nooo ." Stafford said slowly.  
"Then are you here for any reason other than to check up on me?"  
"Well no." Stafford squirmed a bit, "I just thought you'd want to know. First thing we see in this new universe is something's up with the Matrians. So I don't know."  
"Captain Chris," Wowryk gave a smile, "I appreciate it. I do. But whatever has happened here, whatever I did or didn't do it wasn't me. The Noel Wowryk who made that decision is here, in this universe. And I'm not her," her smile faded, "Nor am I responsible for her,"  
"Glad to hear it," Stafford shrugged, "OK Simon, let's go deal with this Special Recon prick,"  
As they left, Wowryk bit her lip, then turned back to Sickbay.

Stafford had barely left Sickbay when Sylvia materialized beside him.  
"Chris, I'm concerned about this secret team that Starfleet send," she said.  
"Yeah, I noticed you weren't all that keen on meeting them,"  
"You know as well as I do that Starfleet has a number of sub-organizations. Including secret ones. And that they don't always share the same goals. Or methods,"  
"Like Starfleet Intelligence?" Stafford asked, "They don't really have a reputation for playing nice,"  
"Or worse," Sylvia said, "I'm just saying someone went to a lot of trouble for us to be here, in this universe, with a surprise secret team. The odds of this happening purely by coincidence Chris, something is fishy,"  
"Yeah, no kidding. Any ideas on what to do about that?"  
Sylvia hesitated which meant either she was carefully choreographing her responses for him, or she was using a scary amount of processing power to consider her next words.  
"Sometimes people keep secrets for good reasons," Sylvia said, "But more often their intentions are less than honourable. Be careful,"  
"Yeah," he replied as her avatar fizzled out, "That's helpful. Except when it's not."  
Stafford found Commander Phulluvit in the security offices outside the brig, the last members of his team just finishing up their security verification.  
"You know," he said, "This would have been a lot easier if Tunney had just sent you along with Dr. Cadela,"  
"You weren't supposed to know about this part of the mission unless her experiment worked," Phulluvit said without preamble, "Deal with it,"  
"We've picked up Matrian ships on a course for what might be Waystation," Stafford said.  
"You are NOT to approach Waystation, under any circumstances!" Phulluvit snapped, "This is to be a clandestine information-gathering mission,"  
"Uh, wasn't planning on it anyway," Stafford crossed his arms, "And I don't take orders from you, Commander,"  
Phulluvit looked like he was about to say something, but at the last second he reigned himself in. "Your crew is very well known to Waystation in our universe," he said instead, "And until we know how the universes are different, we can't risk you being recognized,"  
"So you and your team are taking the Breen, well the Andorian ship to poke around," Stafford said. It wasn't a question.  
"Exactly," Phulluvit nodded, "You'll stay here and wait for us to get back."  
"Or come charging in to rescue you if things go to shit," Stafford smirked.  
"Don't be foolish," Phulluvit said quietly, "I have a highly trained and professional strike um, investigative team. We won't need your help,"  
"Uh-huh," Stafford wondered about that, "By the way, Lt Cmdr Valtaic will be going with you,"  
"Absolutely not!" Phulluvit snapped, "I told you, no-"  
"Valtaic joined my crew fairly recently," Stafford cut him off, "And he wasn't with us during the first Matrian mission. And I have a sneaking suspicion that whatever it is that makes this universe so different, it's something with the Matrians. Also, I still outrank you. And I want one of MY people in on this mission,"  
Phulluvit glared, then nodded.  
"We leave in thirty," he said tightly.

"Sit down, shut up and stay out of our way," a young human told Valtaic after he materialized aboard the Andorian raider. Like Valtaic, he was dressed in civilian cloths in order to better blend in.  
"Hmm. Is your rank higher than that of Lt Cmdr?" Valtaic inquired.  
The young man looked at him angrily.  
"Apparently not," Valtaic let his energy field awaken just enough to cause a prickling feeling along the other officer's skin, "Then you may amend that to 'sit down, shut up and stay out of our way, sir'."  
Grumbling, the man left. 'Sir' might have been somewhere in the grumbling. It might also have been proceeded with 'f**k off'.  
Valtaic found himself frowning. Something was off with these new officers. On his world, rank was accepted as a matter of course. The customary bluntness of his people left no room for the innuendo and veiled insults that were so popular with humans and other races but it was strange for a human officer to be so blatantly rude to a superior he didn't know personally.  
He felt the ship accelerate to warp as he made his way to the cramped bridge. Finding an empty seat next to an engineering station, he sat and quickly adjusted the controls from the default Andorian readouts to something he could better understand.  
"Sensors confirm the object at the destination coordinates matches Waystation's specifications," said the Vulcan science officer.  
"Navigational beacons and information channels do not indicate anything unexpected," said the Bajoran pilot.  
"No mention of Intendants or Happymasters?" Phulluvit asked.  
"Negative,"  
"OK, get us docking clearance,"  
"Transmitting our cargo manifest and bill of landing," It was clear this team had worked together before, Valtaic noted. The quick, concise updates and commands were refreshing after the barely organized chaos of Silverado's bridge.  
"And our Matrian friends?"  
"They appear to be giving the station a wide berth," the tactical officer said, "Keeping it within sensor range, but not approaching. Definitely a reconnaissance run,"  
Valtaic brought up the sensor readings, then zoomed in to get a closer look at the space around Waystation, "I'm picking up several other vessels in the vicinity of Waystation," he said, "One, perhaps two Galaxy-class starships, three Excelsior-class and three more Miranda-class ships,"  
"One Miranda, two Akira," the tactical officer sneered, "And one Galaxy, one Ambassador,"  
Unused to the small craft, Valtaic adjusted the sensors until he could confirm the other man's assessment.  
"We should send this information back to Silverado immediately," Valtaic said, "Clearly tensions between the Federation and Matrians are high,"  
"No transmissions back until we have completed our mission," the tactical officer snapped, "We will not break cover,"  
"Lieutenant uh, Lt Witters," Phulluvit said, "Give Lt Cmdr Valtaic access to your tactical analysis. He can brief his Captain when we get back. But at this time, we don't know for certain it's the Matrians Starfleet is worried about. It could be the Multeks, or the Collectors in this universe."  
"Aye. Sir." Witters said, throwing another unhappy look Valtaic's way.  
As the information came up, it became very clear that 'tensions are high' was an understatement. The ships were in defensive formation around the station, not docked. As he watched, one of the Miranda-class ship started moving towards the Matrian reconnaissance ships, which didn't appear to take note. The Akira-class ship was turning towards them, apparently moving in for a detailed, close-range scan. None of the ship strayed far from Waystation.  
Had they landed in the middle of a war?  
"Sir, we're getting a message from the USS Bison," the pilot said, "We're to hold position ten thousand kilometers from the station until we can be scanned,"  
"Fine, we're not here to upset anyone."  
"They are not following standard procedure," Valtaic pointed out.  
"It's fine. We don't have anything we shouldn't have."  
"Aside from a quantum-phasic signature that doesn't belong in this universe,"  
They glided to halt and it was only a short wait until the Akira-class ship moved into close sensor range. Something about the ship seemed oddly menacing to Valtaic as it hovered over them on the viewscreen, its small saucer angled so it appeared to curve like a disapproving brow.  
But after several moments they were given the OK to proceed to the station. Valtaic turned back to the sensors, noticing that one of the Miranda-class ships was moving to intercept another vessel moving in from the direction of Federation space.  
Maybe not a war. But Starfleet was definitely worried about something.

They docked in one of the cavernous bays atop the upper saucer. It may have been Valtaic's imagination, but did the customs officer take a little longer examining his (admittedly falsified) documents? They departed the docking bay and stepped into a turbolift bound for Starfleet Square Mall, and it took less than a minute after the doors opened for Valtaic to know it wasn't his imagination.  
The mall was crowded, but the shoppers were moving quickly instead of their usual meander through the various shops. The crowd was somewhat muted still the din of hundreds of beings packed into a single space, but the usual punctuation of loud laughs or roars of delight were absent. Valtaic could see at least three empty storefronts, which was almost unheard of on the station. Starfleet Square Mall was almost always leased to capacity, such that a separate, smaller shopping area had been allowed to operate in the lower saucer. OK, so the shops next to the Andorian restaurant were more likely to be vacant it only took one or two instances of a Mishtak-ee being tossed through one's display window to make one request the first available space that wasn't next to a restaurant full of violent spleen-pie artists.  
"Transport 2382 to Multos is departing from Docking Arm 2 in two hours," a male voice came over the station-wide comm, "All civilians who have arranged temporary lodging with the Multeks are to report for boarding by 1345 hours. I say again, all civilians evacuating to Multos, Docking Arm 2 at 1345 hours,"  
"Let's find a public terminal," Phulluvit said, "Valtaic, go with Boto and Smith. Keep up our cover. Eat something. Or find somewhere to gamble, I don't care,"  
"I am to remain with you," Valtaic replied simply.  
"You'll do as you're told!" Witters snapped, "We know what we're doing!"  
"Do you want to draw attention to ourselves with an argument?"  
Phulluvit clenched his teeth, the muscles of his jaw standing out briefly. "Let's get this done,"  
Again, Valtaic was confused. The Federation Historical Archives were public, available through data-link to various sites like Memory Alpha, but they could also be downloaded for research and analysis where subspace links were less reliable. It would be a matter of minutes to download the offline archive into a series of storage chips. Whitters' attitude just didn't make sense.  
Coming down the mall, they found a cheery looking space bearing the name 'Waystation Welcome Center'. Phulluvit walked right in, gave a perfunctory hello to the blond woman working behind the counter, then gestured to a row of data terminals along a far wall.  
Valtaic, not sure what else to do, sat at one of the terminals. He pulled a padd out of his pocket and was about to start a dump of recent news articles when he saw that two terminals down, Witters had attached a small, disc-shaped device to an unobtrusive part of the terminal.  
"That's not exactly keeping our cover," he muttered quietly to Phulluvit. Behind them, the blond had pulled out a large padd and appeared to be engrossed in reading something.  
"Shut up," Phulluvit said tightly. He glanced at Valtaic's terminal. "Oh, you're getting historical data? Good. Now be quiet and keep doing that. Witters?"  
"Almost OK, I'm in," he said. "Starting search."  
"What-" Valtaic barely got the word out before an alarm began blaring.  
"DAMN!" Witters snapped, "Somebody's been upgrading their security protocols!"  
"Hey!" the blond snapped, "What do you think you're doing?"  
"Nothing!" Phulluvit smiled pleasantly, "I think I just accidentally hit the fire alarm!"  
"That's totally not the sound of the fire alarm," the woman said, but she appeared to be sitting back down in her seat.  
"Witters? How long?" Phulluvit hissed.  
"Still searching!"  
"Security is going to be here any minute! Grab what you have and let's-"  
Valtaic caught a whir of motion out of the corner of his eye. He started to turn his head, just in time to see the blond woman's hands come up from under the counter, a phaser in each one. Two blasts had Phulluvit and Witters stunned and falling to the deck. "Security's already here," Ensign Tina Jones said coldly, tossing her blond hair and firing both phasers at Valtaic.  
He managed to get his energy field up in time to block the bulk of the blast, but the bleed-through from two beams at once left him wobbling.  
The next shot sent him falling to the deck.

"The Andorian vessel has reached the extreme edge of sensor range," Fifebee reported, "I can no longer track them,"  
"Well, we knew that was going to happen," Stafford sighed, "So now we wait."  
"Yes," Fifebee nodded, "I will resume my other scans of the vicinity,"  
"Keep an eye on those two Matrian scouts, huh?" Jall prompted.  
"I am doing that," T'Parief rumbled.  
"Yeah, but she multi-tasks better than you do," Jall shrugged.  
T'Parief gave a rumble of displeasure.  
They sat in silence for a moment. Then two. Then several minutes. The consoles beeped. The computers chirped. That annoying little mweep-mwoop that only Silverado seemed to have did its mweeping and mwooping. Stafford drummed his fingers on his armrest. Jall noticed a ketchup stain on his chair that he was certain hadn't been there the day before. He dabbed at it with his uniform hem for a few moments before giving up and putting a note in to maintenance. And a nasty-gram to Beta and Gamma shifts. Yanick was humming some aimless tune, and T'Parief simply cycled through various tactical sensor scans again and again, vigilant for the slightest threat.  
"So," Stafford finally asked, "How's Allona?"  
"She's good," Yanick said with a half-shrug, "Teething,"  
"Oh,"  
"Yeah. No fangs yet," Yanick went on, "But I have to tell you, my nipples are NOT happy about it!"  
"Oh boy," Stafford gulped.  
"I'm thinking of asking Noel for, I dunno, maybe little tooth caps or something? Do they make nipple guards? Is that a thing?"  
"F**k you," Jall said to Stafford, "You started this. This is your fault."  
"I'm sorry," Stafford said quietly.  
"But at least the pooping has gotten better. It's been what Pari, a week since her last blaster?"  
"Eight days," T'Parief said, and Stafford could actually hear pride in the big lizard's voice, "Blaster?" Lt Day asked from Ops, filling in for Valtaic.  
"Don't ask!" Jall groaned.  
"Oh, it's when she gets all stopped up, and the pressure builds," Yanick said, "She gets REALLY cranky. So you put her on the changing table, massage her little tummy for a while, maybe give her some softener. Then-"  
"Then you call ship's maintenance for the wet-vac and the decontamination suits, we know!" Jall cute her off.  
"No, they stopped answering after the Great Crap Jet of 59522," Yanick said, "Oh, Captain, I've been meaning to ask if you'd talk to them about that,"  
"I would never order my men to do something I would never do myself," Stafford said immediately, "And I don't clean baby poop."  
"You will change your mind when it is your baby," T'Parief rumbled.  
"Yeah well, that's not happening anytime soon,"  
"Didn't you sleep with a bunch of Matrians before the Qu'Eh invasion?" Jall asked, grateful for the change in topic.  
"Well yeah," Stafford admitted.  
"And aren't they trying to rebuild their population? And y'know expand their gene pool, since the cloning they did of the men left over from the Gender Wars sort of screwed it up?"  
"Where are you going with this?" Stafford suddenly wondered if he'd rather be talking about Allona's bowel movements.  
"Well did you use protection?"  
"Ummmm "  
"So you might have have a dozen kids running around Matria Prime," Jall sounded thoughtful, "Did you even check before we left?"  
Stafford was suddenly very, very quiet.  
"Ohhhh," Jall was almost clapping his hands, "Suddenly I wish Matria Prime were a lot closer! I'd LOVE to get in touch with some of those-"  
"Wait," T'Parief cut Jall off, "You have just made a very interesting point,"  
"Not you too," Stafford was looking very disturbed now.  
"I am not interested in your potential spawn, though I will offer congratulations at a later time," T'Parief said, "However as Lt Cmdr Jall has pointed out, Matria Prime is some distance from here."  
"Yeah. Nearly a month for us. Longer for slower ships." Day said from Ops.  
"Slower ships like those Matrian scouts," T'Parief pointed out.  
"Hey, yeah," Jall turned back, "Good catch. How the hell did they get so close to Federation space in those little things?"  
"Did they not use those same ships years ago when they were poking around Federation space, looking for an individual like Jeffery?" T'Parief asked.  
"They sent a larger cruiser to the edge of Federation space," Fifebee said, "They sent their M-SIDS to several ports disguised as cargo. Any M-SID that detected a potential match was followed up on with one of these scouts,"  
"So there's probably at least a cruiser somewhere nearby," Jall said, "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"  
"I'm really sure I don't have kids," Stafford said, fiddling with his hands in his lap, "I mean, the mother would have contacted me, right? If humans and Matrians can even interbreed, and odds are that's impossible without medical help. And it's Matria Prime we were sort of famous. Wouldn't that sort of thing be in the news?"  
"In the grocery store tabloids, maybe," Yanick giggled.  
"I mean about the Matrian ship!" Jall said.  
"Right," Stafford shook his head, "Right. Yeah, they've probably got a bigger ship nearby. But that's not our problem! We're here to see why this universe split off. And to do that, we just have to wait for the away team to do their job,"  
"They Matrians are scouting Waystation," T'Parief said, "They would not do so blatantly unless they were considering a direct assault and were confident of their numbers."  
"Again, not something we're here to tangle with,"  
"Yeah," Jall said reluctantly, "But if they decide to do something annoying while the away team is still on Waystation "  
"Oh hell," Stafford rolled his eyes, imagining trying to do an emergency extraction in the middle of a battle. A battle where Waystation might not be considering his ship as friendly.  
"OK, let's go take a peek. But just a peek!"  
"Set course back along the scout's path," Jall ordered Yanick.  
"Very edge of sensor range!" Stafford emphasized.

Valtaic regained consciousness in what he assumed was Waystation's brig. Recovering from a phaser stun was never fun. Recovering from four was even less fun.  
"There. It is awake." The speaker's voice had clipped, even tones with an accent he didn't immediately recognize, "Now if you'll excuse me, I'm trying to get Sickbay ready for our impending doom."  
"Fine," Valtaic moved unsteadily to a sitting position as a Dr. Diantha, Waystation's avian Chief Medical Officer, strode firmly out of the brig. Right. Definitely a familiar accent. And a familiar, female figure. On a less appealing note, Phulluvit and Witters were stirring on other bunks in his cell.  
"So. Lt Valtaic, would you care to tell me why you're on my station with falsified identification, helping two unknown men break into our computer systems?"  
Ah. And that would be Captain Lisa Beck, commander of Waystation. And she looked very, very annoyed. The bearded man next to her would be Commander Walter Morales, first officer. And Lt Sean Russell, Chief of Security.  
"Don't tell her anything!" Phulluvit said, "You know our orders!"  
Valtaic briefly considered listening to him, then decided not to.  
"Orders which even you did not follow," he turned to Beck, "I am Lt Cmdr Riven Valtaic of the USS Silverado. I have come from a parallel universe as part of a scientific study. My associates are mission specialists, who were to access the Federation Historical Archive. Or so they told us,"  
"Idiot," Witters and Phulluvit muttered.  
"Bullshit," Beck said almost at once, "One, your associates were trying to tap into highly classified data files. Two, your associates don't exist, according to Starfleet DNA records. And three, the USS Silverado went missing nearly five years ago. Your records say you're posted to Starbase 45."  
"A simple quantum-phasic scan-"  
"I don't have time for this," Beck cut him off, "We have intelligence that the Matrians are about to start a major push into this sector. And you try to break into our systems just as two scouts make a sensor pass on us?"  
"We..." Valtaic looked over at Phulluvic, "I had no intentions other than scientific research. I do not know what these two were doing,"  
"Morales, Russell, get whatever information you can out of them," Beck said, turning to leave, "I'm heading back to Ops."  
"I am sure your science officer can confirm my story," Valtaic dredged his memory for the name of Waystation's science officer, "Lt Porter would have little-"  
"What do you know about Porter?" Beck was suddenly at the edge of the force field, her eyes blazing, "Where is he? What happened to him!"  
"I " Valtaic hesitated, wondering how to explain this, "I don't know. In my universe, he is still an officer aboard Waystation. I assumed-"  
"Porter vanished four years ago," this time it was Russell that cut him off, "So don't think name-dropping is going to do you any good!"  
Beck turned away, but not before Valtaic saw the disappointment on her face. She glanced over at Commander Morales, then stalked out of the brig.  
"Let's start again," Morales said tiredly, "Who are you, really?"  
Something Beck had said earlier popped back into Valtaic's mind.  
"Captain Beck said Silverado was missing," he said.  
"We ask the questions here!" Russell snapped.  
"Oh, Good Cop, Bad Cop," Witters grumbled, "How original!"  
"Shut up!" Russell barked.  
Valtaic sighed. Even in prison interrogations, humans were insufferable. OK. Porter was missing. Silverado of this universe was missing. The two were probably not related. Vessels coming into Waystation received far more scrutiny than they did in his own universe. Was that related to Silverado's disappearance? There had been several missions that could have ended in the ship being destroyed, the crash on Delorea 2 coming immediately to mind. Or if it involved the mission to Matria Prime... something tickled the back of his mind. Something someone had said earlier. But he couldn't recall.  
Maybe it was time to try a different route.  
"What are we being charged with," Valtaic asked instead.  
"I said WE ask the questions here!" Russell said.  
"Tampering with classified Starfleet computer systems," Morales said, "And sabotage. Possibly treason."  
"Sabotage? Treason?" now even Phulluvit looked confused, "What on earth would we sabotage from your Welcome Center?"  
"You tell me," Morales said mildly, "And while we're at it, why don't you tell me who you really are?"  
Valtaic's mouth tightened. This was not going to be a productive afternoon.

"I am detecting a Matrian cruiser at the edge of sensor range," T'Parief stated from tactical.  
"All stop," Stafford ordered, "Trish, keep our distance,"  
"Is it the same kind of ship they used before?" Jall asked.  
"I cannot tell from this distance," Fifebee answered him, "But wait. I am picking up several more ships. They are Matrian. I believe there are several cruisers, along with a number of smaller scouts. Possibly fighters, though we would have to move closer to get a clear reading,"  
"I think that would be an astronomically bad idea," Jall said, "We're just here to scout, remember? We don't want to-"  
"Incoming communication," T'Parief said.  
"Shit," Stafford swore, "Trish, I said the EDGE of their sensor range!"  
"We are!" Yanick objected, "I mean, the edge of what the computer says is their sensor range,"  
"Different universe, different Matrians," Fifebee said.  
"Do we answer, or do we turn out the lights and pretend we're not home?" Jall asked, "Like Jeffery when Wowryk is in a bad mood,"  
"They do not appear to care, they are sending a message anyway," T'Parief said.  
The screen flickered, than an image appeared on the screen.  
"Federation vessel," the man on the screen spoke, rising to his feet, his reddish hair gleaming in the light. He was of average height, though with paler than average skin. His clothing was dark, a sort of form-fitting tunic with little in the way of visible insignia aside from series of symbols on one shoulder. Clearly human, he spoke without the slightest trace of accent, "Surrender immediately. We come to welcome you into our Empire as allies and colleagues, not as enemies. Once a Faith Machine is in place on your vessel, you too will share the urge to build a greater society, for the good of all in this region of space. Indeed, one day, this galaxy!"  
Everybody stared at the screen.  
"Who are you?" Stafford asked finally.  
"I am the Herald of the Crusade," said the man who looked exactly like Simon Jeffery, "here to lead the people of the Federation in their submission to the Matrian Empire,"  
"Um. Let us think about that. Bye!" Stafford frantically gestured at T'Parief to cut the channel, "Yanick, set course to Waystation, maximum warp."  
"I'd say this mission is officially off the rails," Jall remarked. 


	18. 17 - Reflections

6.17 "Reflections"

"OK, OK," Captain Christopher Stafford said "Let's think this through."  
"Jeffery's leading the Matrians in an invasion of the Federation," Jall said, "That...that just doesn't make any sense!"  
"We're at maximum warp," Yanick said, "Time to Waystation, five minutes,"  
"Matrians are not pursuing," T'Parief said.  
"Perhaps-" Fifebee started, but T'Parief cut her off.  
"I was able to identify five separate Matrian cruisers," he said, "Along with nearly a dozen scouts and support vessels. Two squadrons of star-fighters,"  
"None of which poses much threat to Waystation," Jall pointed out, "Waystation is a fortress. This is a probe."  
"Or they are waiting for something," T'Parief said, "Reinforcements."  
"Ye wanted to see me?" Jeffery asked, stepping out of the turbolift.  
Everyone just stared at him in silence.  
"Whot? Are the floor vents blowing me kilt up again? Probably not, Ah'm not wearing one! And Ah started wearin' underwear under me kilt after that incident, anyway."  
"Captain," Fifebee turned to Stafford, "I-"  
"Any idea why you might want to seize control of the Matrian Empire and lead them in an invasion of the Federation?" Jall asked Jeffery.  
"Is yer bum out the window?" Jeffery asked after a moment.  
"Nooo," Stafford said slowly, "But the you in this universe apparently...has his bum out the window. If that means he's crazy."  
"Whot?" Jeffery was startled, "Ah mean...whot?"  
"Approaching Waystation," Yanick announced, "Taking-"  
The ship shuddered as the emergency stop routines kicked in and proximity alarms started blaring.  
"Trish, watch where you're going!" Sylvia shrilled.  
"It's not ME!" Yanick snapped back, hammering the controls and pulling the ship into a sharp turn. A Galaxy-class ship loomed on the screen, two other Federation vessels flanking it as it blocked Silverado's approach to Waystation, "Those ASSHOLES totally cut me off!"  
"Hail them," Stafford ordered, "Tell them-"  
"Incoming hail," T'Parief said.  
"Unidentified ship, this is Captain Andrew Baxter of the USS Explorer!" a bearded, slightly heavyset man appeared on the screen, the usual Galaxy-style tactical railing behind him. "Slow down, keep your distance from the station and I swear, if you're carrying a Faith Machine, it's not going to do you any good! Seriously, I can't get half the people on this ship to believe in Taco Tuesday, never-mind galactic conquest!"  
"As I was trying to say," Fifebee said, "Perhaps we should hail Waystation and identify ourselves before we charge in at maximum warp from the direction of hostile space.  
"Oh shit," Stafford muttered. He stood and approached the viewscreen. "Ah, this is Captain Christopher Stafford of the USS Silverado. Um...sorry for barging in, but there's a Matrian fleet less than a light-year from here, and they're going on about Heralds and crusades and Federation submission."  
"We...thought you'd want to know," Jall finished lamely.  
The screen abruptly split, showing Captain Lisa Beck and the Waystation Operations Center on the left and Baxter on the right.  
"Baxter, I've got this," she said, "Captain Stafford, your ship was listed as officially Missing in Action' five years ago, during a mission to Matrian space. Two years ago, the Matrians started pushing past their borders and invading their neighbours. Now they're on MY doorstep, and you suddenly show up out of nowhere. Care to explain?"  
Stafford was speechless. Baxter was not.  
"Excuse you, Beck," Baxter said, "But -I- have got this!"  
"Good for you, Andy," a woman in the counselor's chair next to Baxter said encouragingly, "Don't let her push you around!"  
"Peterman, I swear to God," Beck closed her eyes, took a calming breath, then looked back at Stafford, "Well?"  
"We're from a parallel universe, on a scientific mission," Stafford said, not sure what else to say, "Look, we're not from anyplace evil,"  
"Or insanely happy!" Jall chimed in.  
"We were just supposed to pop on by, find out how this universe is different, then leave," Stafford continued, "We weren't supposed to get involved or anything, but we weren't expecting to end up in the middle of a Federation-Matrian war,"  
"Travellers from another universe," Beck nodded slowly, but then her gaze hardened, "Is that why you sent agents to sabotage my station, leaving us vulnerable to an M-SID attack?"  
"I...what? No!" Stafford objected.  
"All vessels, lock weapons on Silverado," Beck ordered, "Stafford, drop your shields and prepare to be boarded. And if we get even a HINT of M-SID technology, we're going to blast you into so many pieces-"  
"That your pieces will be declared MIA!" Baxter jumped in.  
"Andy," Peterman grimaced, "Too much,"  
"Yes," the Andorian officer at the tactical rail said, "That was NOT a good finish."  
Beck glared again at both of them.  
"Beck out," she said.  
The bridge was quiet for a moment.  
"So...what do we do?" Yanick asked.  
I have no fucking clue' is what Stafford wanted to say. But even he knew better than to say that in front of his people.  
"Sylvia," he said, "I want all computer access locked down. Nobody except our crew gets anything, you understand?"  
"Yes, Chris," Sylvia replied dutifully, "But if they manually remove data chips, they will eventually be able to access information on them. It will only take time to bypass our encryption protocols."  
"We don't actually have anything to hide," Jall pointed out, "Y'know, since you told the truth and all. Which...I'm not sure if that was brilliant, or stupid as shit,"  
"It's this sabotage thing that has me really worried," Stafford said, "What the hell did Phulluvit and Valtaic DO over there?"  
"M-SID attack," T'Parief mused.  
"You don't think..." Stafford trailed off, then turned to Fifebee, "Fifebee, did those Matrian ships have active M-SIDs on board?"  
"One moment," Fifebee turned back to her station for a moment, "Yes. They did."  
"Matrian Spatial Interphase Devices," Jeffery spoke up, "Tha perfect thing for a bit o' mind-control, or fer lockin' yer enemies in a virtual dream world,"  
"No wonder they were so eager to stop us!" Jall said, "But the Matrians destroyed that technology, and all record of it, years ago!"  
"Our Matrians did," Fifebee corrected him, "These ones did not."  
"Jeffery," Stafford thought back to the image of Simon Jeffery leading the Matrian fleet. He turned to his engineer, "Simon maybe you should keep a low profile, huh? Like, go to your quarters and take a bath until these Waystation people leave,"  
"A bath?"  
"He'll get pruny," Yanick said.  
"Whatever, I don't care. Just disappear for a bit."  
"Aye mate," Jeffery said, heading for the turbolift.  
"Waystation is again demanding that we lower shields," T'Parief said.  
"Yes, drop shields. Inform the crew that an...inspection party...is en route," Stafford grimaced, then abruptly straightened.  
"The Blinker!" he snapped, "The thing for travelling between universes! Sylvia, I want our return programming encrypted as tightly as possible! And Jall, go hide that stupid thing!"  
"You know that's our best evidence that we're actually FROM another universe, right?" Jall said.  
"Do you want these crazies showing up on OUR doorstep next?" Stafford asked.

Valtaic and Phulluvit were sitting in their cell in Waystation's brig. Witters was in the next cell with Boto and Smith, but there was no sign of the other members of Phulluvit's team. Morales had continued questioning them until the red alert klaxon had sounded, then had rushed out. The alert hadn't lasted long, but so far nobody had come back to interrogate them further. A bored guard was seated by the controls to the brig forcefields, but he didn't have much to say.  
"I don't understand," Valtaic said finally, "Our mission was simple, straight-forward and innocent. I don't know what you tried to do, but it was at best foolish and at worst a direct breach of orders,"  
"We have our own orders," Witters' expression was at best condescending, at worst disgusted.  
"Witters, shut up," Phulluvit ordered.  
"Of course you have your own orders," Valtaic thought back to the secret message Stafford had received after Phulluvit and his team had been revealed as something other than Breen, "This entire experiment has been an excuse to get you to this universe, hasn't it?"  
"You realize" Phulluvit said, pointing up, "That they're recording everything we say?"  
It was Valtaic's turn to look smug. He looked over to be sure the guard wasn't paying close attention, then twitched his right hand near the brig force field. The field dimmed noticeably. He then glanced up at where Phulluvit was pointing.  
"As I said," he smiled, "My mission was innocent. I have nothing to fear from exposure of the truth. You, on the other hand...well, considering this universe probably doesn't have the technology to send you home after your treason sentence is up, I suspect you have a great deal to fear."  
"It's an honour to give our lives for the security of the Federation!" Witters snapped from the next cell.  
"Dammit Witters, shut the hell up!" Phulluvit snarled, "You're playing right into his hands!"  
Valtiac leaned back but said nothing more. Hopefully now it would just be a matter of waiting for their captors to review the security footage and realize he wasn't with this crowd.  
Hopefully.

Stafford was waiting in the transporter room when Commander Morales and a bevy of security personnel materialized on the pads. They stepped off the platform just in time for Lt Cmdr J'hana, Commander Richards and another batch of USS Explorer security personnel to appear.  
"Lt Cmdr J'hana, take your people and secure the bridge," Morales ordered, "Gregson, I want a team in Main Engineering and another in Auxiliary Control. Captain Stafford, if you'll come with me, Captain Beck wants to speak with you,"  
"I want assurances that I will be allowed to return," Stafford said flatly. Something about what Morales just said...  
"We don't know your status, sir," Morales said tightly, "You and your crew may have been held captive this entire time. We know the Matrians have the technology to alter personalities...and loyalties."  
"We're from a parallel universe," Stafford repeated, "You'll figure that out sooner or later."  
"I hope you're right," Morales' hard expression softened briefly, then he turned to J'Hana, "Make sure your people are looking for any Matrian technology or modifications. Anything that would indicate this ship has been in enemy hands.  
Uh-oh. Now he knew what the problem was.  
"Ah...about that," Stafford said, "We...in our universe, the Matrians are our allies. Our ship was crippled helping them fight the Qu'Eh, they helped us with a rebuild and...what?"  
Morales' look had gone dead cold again.  
"The Qu'Eh were absorbed into the Matrian Empire six months ago," he said, "What we can't figure out is how. How did the Matrians get a tactical advantage over an empire twice their size?"  
"I don't know. We weren't here," Stafford said, the words sounding inadequate even to him, "In our universe the Qu'Eh occupied Matria Prime for months, until a Federation fleet helped push them out of Matian space."  
"Uh-huh," Morales motioned to his people, "Let's go people. Secure this ship. Stafford, come with me. For what it's worth, if you're telling the truth we won't have any reason to hold you."  
"I guess that's as good as I'm going to get," Stafford sighed.

He was beamed over to a small vessel, presumably the Waystation support ship that Cadela was originally going to use for her test. Silverado was well beyond transporter range. Presumably, she'd been intercepted outside of whatever range Starfleet had determined the M-SIDs had. He was led to the tiny bridge under guard but not restrained, just in time to see Silverado slip out of sight as the small ship sped towards Waystation.  
He honestly wasn't sure how worried he needed to be. Beck seemed like herself, just maybe a bit more suspicious than he remembered. He never really knew this Baxter character, but he didn't seem particularly evil. On the other hand, how much could he really learn about someone from a few interactions over the viewscreen? On the other, other hand, Morales seemed to be following normal procedures, and he wasn't acting like he was leading Stafford to his doom. Of course, if people who routinely led others to their doom acted like they were leading others to their doom, the others being led would flee, and the ones doing the leading wouldn't be delivering much in terms of doom.  
With that fun train of thought running through his head, Stafford turned to Morales.  
"Who's President of the Federation in this timeline?" he asked.  
Morales looked at him a bit strangely.  
"Bradly Dillon," he replied, "Why, who's yours? One of the Betazoid Boys?"  
"Dillon," Stafford nodded. "And you say my ship disappeared on the first mission to Matrian space?"  
"First mission? Try only mission," Morales said, "Starfleet sent the USS Stallion to investigate, but they were attacked as soon as they got close to Matrian space. They didn't even make it all the way back to Waystation before their warp coils fused from plasma leakage. We had to send a rescue tug to bring them the last week back."  
"Seriously?" Stafford was pissed, "An entire Ambassador-class starship goes missing, and the only rescue mission Starfleet bothers to send is Simplot and her band of losers?"  
Morales was quiet for a moment.  
"What? Did I say something wrong? She's not dead in this universe, is she?" Stafford actually would have felt like a monumental asshole if that had been the case.  
"I was just wondering," Morales said slowly, "How somebody who'd been held captive by the Matrians for five years would know who was commanding the Stallion,"  
"Yes! Exactly!" Stafford almost pounced at the opening. But Morales burst his bubble quickly.  
"Then I remembered that starship command appointments are available on the Federnet," Morales shrugged, "I guess you had a good briefing."  
Stafford groaned.  
"Are we there yet?"

"One pulse phaser cannon. ONE? That is pathetic. YOU are pathetic," Lt Cmdr J'Hana said to T'Parief, somehow managing to look down her nose at him, even though he was easily a foot taller than her.  
T'Parief let out a throat rattle, but otherwise didn't reply.  
"You know," Jall said calmly, "I really don't want to have to break up a fight between the two of you."  
"No," J'Hana gave him a predatory grin, "You don't."  
"Yeah, I just said that," Jall crossed his arms, "Between his claws and your crazy, I'd be on the express train to Sickbay. So why don't you just play nice until your people realize the Matrian fleet is a bigger threat than we are, then you two can whip them out see who's got the bigger phaser cannon."  
J'Hana's grin didn't fade, but something in her posture shifted.  
"I like that idea," she said.  
"Uh, he's taken," Yanick said from the helm, "And he might have claws, but I'm the one that BITES!"  
"Then perhaps the three of us-" J'Hana started, but Jall cut her off.  
"Stop. Stop this metaphor," he said.  
The turbolift doors opened and Cmdr Richards and Dr Janice Browning stepped onto the bridge.  
"Find anything?" J'Hana asked, eyes not leaving T'Parief.  
"Non-Federation replicator traces on a ton of equipment," Richards said, "But according to the serial numbers, a lot of sensitive equipment was manufactured in Federation space sometime in the past six to twelve months. So I dunno."  
"There's also Matrian DNA on every deck," Browning said, "but there's something screwy with their crew manifest,"  
"What do you mean?" J'Hana demanded.  
"She probably means," Jall said, "that we have crew on board who weren't aboard Silverado during the Matrian missions. And other people are missing. Because, guess what? That was five years ago! We've had turnover! You think the Matrians just went and imported a few random humans for some elaborate charade?"  
"Yes," J'Hana and Richards said together.  
"I've examined several crewmen, along with Dr. Wowryk," Browning said, "Quantum phasic signature scans are processing, but for now there's no indications of cortical induction or exposure to spatial interphase. So either the Matrians have managed to hide those indicators, or these guys haven't been exposed."  
"Or they were exposed enough to turn them five years ago!" J'Hana said.  
"It doesn't work that way," Fifebee said haughtily.  
"And how would you know that if you weren't a Matrian spy?"  
"Because," Jall said again, "the Matrians are our allies in our universe. We destroyed their M-SID network and the virtual reality it linked to. All the women woke up from stasis and the men went back to normal. The only side effect was memory loss,"  
Now he had their attention.  
"Really," Richards asked, "How can you know this? We haven't heard any of this from our uh intelligence network."  
"Well that's how it turned out in our universe," Jall said, "Lord knows what the hell is going on in this one,"  
"Indeed," T'Parief grumbled, "But if you would allow us to resume access to our tactical sensors, at least we can keep an eye open,"  
"Keep your hands away from the panel!" J'hana barked.  
"Well this is going nowhere fast," Jall muttered.

"Two Earth standard meals," the Waystation security guard said as he pushed a tray through an opening in Witter's cell force-field, then another into the cell Valtaic was sharing with Phulluvit. "One Humanoid Type-IV', guaranteed not to kill Lithinarians," he continued over to the cell Boto and Smith here in, "One more Earth standard, and a Humanoid Type-II' for Bajorans."  
"It seems mealtime has become surprisingly racist," Valtaic said to Boto as he contemplated his very unappealing block of processed nutrient gel.  
"Indeed," Boto agreed.  
"Count your blessings," Smith grumbled, "I have some kind of purple soup. What the hell is this? This can't be from Earth,"  
"It's food," the guard said.  
"Seriously though," Smith held up his tray, "It's purple! Who's ever heard of purple soup?"  
The guard looked through the force-field, but didn't seem impressed.  
"It's just borscht," he said, "You'll-URK!"  
The guard fell to the desk as a hand fell on his shoulder, a non-descript Vulcan figure having appeared almost as though from thin air. Valtaic immediately recognized him as one of the officers they'd left on the ship.  
"Good timing," Phulluvit said, tossing his meal tray aside and moving to the force-field. Valtaic set his carefully down on the small table, "Report!"  
"Waystation has raised their security alert," the Vulcan said, "All computer systems have been locked down, and it seems Dillon Enterprises have moved much of their R&D off the station in this universe. We will not be able to complete our mission as anticipated,"  
As he spoke, the Vulcan dropped the force-fields on the cells holding Boto, Smith and Witters. Witters grabbed the fallen guard's phaser and managed to have it pointing right at Valtaic's head as the force-field in front of his cell dropped.  
"Not so fast," Witters hissed as Phulluvit walked out. The Vulcan re-activated the force-field.  
Valtaic regarded them calmly.  
"If you leave me here, Captain Stafford is not likely to respond well," he said.  
"Stafford has to take us home, regardless," Phulluvit chuckled, "If he's pissed while he's doing it, that's no skin off mine. Besides, you seemed pretty confident that your new Waystation friends are going to help you out. Or were you confident that you could take down the brig force-field yourself? I forgot."  
Phulluvit strode towards the brig exit. Witters followed, but leaned close to Valtaic's cell.  
"Looks like you get to make a choice," he gave a cold smile, then left.  
Valtaic's energy field flashed in irritation. The force-field sparked in complaint, but did not fall. Nor had he intended it to. Whatever Phulluvit was up to, it sounded like Waystation was thwarting them. And he didn't want to get caught in the crossfire when Waystation security took them down.  
Still, he did have a choice. He looked down at the thoroughly unappetizing nutrient gel he'd been given, then over at the bacon cheeseburger Phulluvit had tossed to the floor. The burger had fallen apart, but the pieces were mostly on the tray, aside from the tomato.  
And he could probably live without the tomato.

Stafford was beamed over to Waystation and brought into the briefing room off the Operations Center, and the first thing he saw was very, very pale male alien with wild hair wearing a strange, form-fitting grey suit and matching headband.  
"Seize him!" he snapped. The guards immediately grabbed him by the arms and forced him to his knees, "I am Wuddle, Intendant of the Multek Sector of the Alliance! Terrans are slaves!"  
Stafford jerked back hard enough that his guards lost their grip.  
"No, no, no!" he squeaked, trying to push back out of the briefing room, "Shit! Intendants means oh shit! Mirror Universe!"  
"WAIT!" Beck was suddenly at his side, "Relax, you're not in the Mirror Universe, it's just um "  
"Wait what?" Stafford blinked, then looked around. The Waystation officers were still manning their stations, but they were all smirking or holding back laughter. He turned to the pale man, who was peeling off the headband.  
"Am I done? Did I do this right?" the man was asking, "What are Terrans? Why are they slaves?"  
"You're fine, Wuddle," Ensign Tina Jones was patting his arm reassuringly, "Head back down to the Welcome Center,"  
"Who what?" Stafford was still confused.  
"You passed," Commander Morales said, trying to hide a laugh of his own.  
"Passed?"  
"Only someone who genuinely thought they were in another universe would be scared of a Multek in a tight suit," Dr Diantha explained, tapping at her tricorder, "And your bio-signs clearly indicated a state of fear. And possible involuntary urination."  
Stafford's mouth tightened.  
"That was a dick move," he said to Beck.  
She shrugged. "Maybe. But it takes you a step closer to proving your case,"  
"I think I've well proven it by now!"  
"Then why did you have an infiltration team on my station?"  
"I already told you, Valtaic was the only one that's actually mine. Those other yahoos hitched a ride under some Starfleet data collection mission,"  
They glared at each other for a moment.  
"Enough standing," Diantha said, taking a seat. Reluctantly, the remainder of the officers including Stafford and Beck, sat. As they did, an alarm sounded and Russell's comm-badge chirped.  
"Security to Russell! Sir, four of the prisoners have escaped! We found Jacobs unconscious in the brig!"  
"Alert all security teams and begin a search!" Russell ordered as he leapt to his feet.  
"Sit down, Russell," Beck ordered, "Beck to security, you said four prisoners escaped. Who stayed behind?"  
"The Lithinarian," the reply came back, "They left him in his cell."  
"Lock down all departures," Beck ordered, then closed the channel.  
"Told you they're not mine," Stafford said sheepishly.  
"Russell," Beck finally said, "Bring Mr. Valtaic up here," she turned to Stafford, "Look, the more we learn, the more we're inclined to believe you. There are people on your ship that we've confirmed are still at their assigned posts on other ships and starbases. None of you show signs of any recent M-SID activity,"  
"And you freaked right out when you thought you were in the Mirror Universe," Russell smirked, "Maybe even piddled your pants a little." Stafford seethed, but said nothing.  
"On the other hand," Morales stepped in, "Your ship is full of Matrian DNA and you yourself admit it was completely torn apart and rebuilt in a Matrian shipyard. Which is something of an improvement, from what I understand."  
"Which is interesting because so far as we know, Matria Prime doesn't HAVE any shipyards that could do that," Beck resumed speaking. "And that doesn't explain why this infiltration team was trying to access classified M-SID files," Russell added.  
"They were WHAT?" Stafford demanded.  
"Russell, you weren't supposed to tell him that!" Morales sighed.  
"Shut up," Stafford told him, then fixated on Russell, "You're sure? You're SURE that's what they were accessing?"  
Russell who looked at Beck, who looked at Diantha.  
"He's close to panic," Diantha said, consulting her tricorder, "I very much doubt he was already aware of this,"  
Beck nodded at Russell.  
"We're certain," Russell said, "All M-SID material is kept in a special high-security databank,"  
"You thought they were sabotaging your M-SID countermeasures," Stafford said to Beck. She nodded. "No, I don't think that's it at all. They wanted M-SID design schematics."  
"What? Starfleet has had their hands on that for years!" Russell said.  
"Not in my universe they haven't," Stafford said, everything coming together, "When we took out the M-SID network on Matria Prime five years ago, every device connected was fried. The Matrians themselves destroyed every trace of the technology. Even the one we found aboard Haven with Colonel Abela was disintegrated. That's why somebody in Starfleet sent Phulluvit and his team here on my ship! That's why they needed Wowryk's scans to get us here! This wasn't about studying the differences that caused our universes to split, they just wanted to get their hands on M-SID mind-control technology!"  
Partway through this statement, Valtaic had been brought into the room.  
"You mean Dr. Wowryk isn't the only one of us that accomplished something of cosmological significance during her lifetime?" he asked.  
"Please," Stafford grumbled, "I should have known better. We helped T'Parief's father create an entirely new race albeit unknowingly. Actually one of your guys sort of helped start that," he said to Beck.  
"Which one," Beck asked.  
"I can't remember his name. He was at an Ops Conference on Nisus when K'Eleese kidnapped him. She tortured him and my Ops O at the time, trying to get information on the Happyverse."  
"Porter," Beck said softly, "He disappeared at that conference."  
"I'm sorry," Stafford said after a moment, "Look, let me collect those yahoos then I promise we're all going back to our home universe to think long and hard about what we've done,"  
"I think you owe us a little more than that," Beck said, crossing her arms.  
"Like what?"  
"Like how about information on how to beat the Matrians?" Morales said.  
"I can't understand how they turned into a serious threat!" Stafford objected, "I mean, yes they were serious for their neck of the woods. But their ships can't hold up against Federation technology and even with the M-SIDs they just don't have the numbers to take on the Federation! I already told you, the Qu'Eh managed to conquer them. Temporarily," he added.  
"And I already told you the Matrians have already conquered the Qu'Eh," Morales shot back.  
"I don't know how the hell they would have managed that," Stafford shrugged, "And that little fleet they have at your doorstep isn't big enough to pose a serious threat,"  
"It would if our M-SID defenses went down," Becks said.  
"Maybe they've got you and your crew working for them this time," Russell said. Stafford rolled his eyes but Russell quickly clarified, "Not YOU you. Our you. Your ship well, your ship from this universe anyway, has been MIA for years. You could have given them all sorts of Federation technology,"  
"Or we could all be dead," Valtaic said, "And they could have harvested that technology from the wreckage of our ship,"  
Russell at least had the good grace to look embarrassed.  
"Yeah," he said, "Or that,"  
"I'm still not buying it," Stafford shook his head, "We had our asses handed to us by one Qu'Eh fleet. You're saying the Matrians took over their entire empire!"  
"An empire of spineless corporate telemarketers and quality-assurance people," Beck said.  
"They still kicked our asses," Stafford said, "We just don't like to tell people that part."  
"But you defeated them in the end," Beck said. "How?"  
Stafford and Valtaic exchanged a glance. Just how much should they say?  
"We found something on Matria Prime," Stafford said slowly, "A city. A flying city. More of a space station actually. It had Matrian technology from before the war that trashed their civilization. Not quite Federation-level stuff, but much better than what they've got now."  
"And you don't think that was important?" Russell demanded.  
"It's a space station!" Stafford said, "It doesn't actually do anything other than float there. It's great for defending Matria Prime, but not much else. Well, other than the shipyards,"  
"Shipyards?" Beck demanded.  
"Right, the city has shipyard, but nothing else!" Stafford cringed.  
"You said it was a flying city," Morals said.  
"Well, if I said space station', you'd ask where it came from," Stafford grunted, "And I'd say We found it under the desert'. And then you'd say well then how did it get into space'. And I'd say-"  
"Flying city. With shipyards. Got it." Beck cut him off, "Look, if-"  
This time Beck was the one cut off, only this time it was the chime of a transporter than drowned out her words.  
"Beck!" Captain Andy Baxter exclaimed as he emerged from the transporter beam, "What the hell? You're buddies with this guy now, and you're not even inviting me to your little meeting?"  
"Shit," Beck grumbled.  
"Ex-boyfriend?" Stafford asked.  
Something about the look in Beck's eye managed to communicate just how close to death he was. "Nevermind," he muttered.

J'Hana and T'Parief were locked eye to eye. T'Parief's right thumb claw eased slightly towards his console. Immediately, J'Hana's weapon shifted towards him by the same amount. Seeing this, T'Parief eased the claw back, resulting in a similar movement of J'Hana's weapon. He moved the heel of his left foot the smallest amount. No reaction. J'Hana had either missed the movement, or was attempting to lull him into a false sense of security. He narrowed his eyes slightly, but she just continued to stare at him with her cold, confident gaze.  
"I'd be worried if I were you," Jall said to Yanick.  
"Jall, don't start," Yanick said crisply.  
"Your man and the blue babe are TOTALLY having glare-sex," Jall chuckled.  
"They totally are not," Yanick said, carefully NOT turning around in her seat to look back, "It's just more silly macho posturing. I'm not worried at all."  
"If I wanted him, I would have him," J'Hana said calmly.  
"If?" T'Parief arched a scaled brow.  
"Sweetie," Yanick's voice had a hint of danger in it, "Enough flirting,"  
T'Parief turned towards Yanick and incidentally towards his console. J'Hana's phaser was immediately in his face, her thumb resting on the trigger. Before either of them could do anything the comm chirped.  
"Waystation to Silverado," Beck's voice came over the channel, "Stand down. We-"  
"J'Hana, Richards, stand down," Baxter's voice interrupted, "We've confirmed their story."  
"Then let us speak to our captain," T'Parief said.  
The screen came to life, showing Stafford standing between Beck and Baxter with a very uncomfortable look on his face. Beck was glaring at Baxter, who turned and stuck his tongue out at her.  
"You are now on screen, sir," J'Hana said.  
"I know that," Stafford frowned. He looked behind him just as Baxter's tongue pulled back into his mouth. "Seriously? I hope the two of you in my universe aren't this bad,"  
"So they believe us?" Jall asked.  
"Yeah," Stafford said, "We've got Valtaic back, but Phulluvit and his crew took their ship and disappeared. We think they're after M-SID technology, but since we're their ride back to our universe, I don't think they'll go too far. Look, I have to work a few things out with Captain Beck,"  
"And me!" Baxter said, "In case you didn't notice, my ship could blow your ship to pieces,"  
T'Parief and J'Hana glared at each other again.  
"Just join their defensive perimeter for now," Stafford said, "I'll be back on board soon. Oh, and somebody tell Simon he can stop hiding. Waystation out,"  
"You heard him," Jall said to Yanick.  
If anyone had been paying attention to Silverado's sensors, they might have noticed that due to their slightly more distant position from Waystation they had the Matrian fleet on the very, very edge of sensor range. And this hypothetical someone might have noticed that the Matrian fleet was manoeuvring itself into a new formation. But sadly no one was paying attention. And by the time J'Hana left the bridge and T'Parief was able to return to his duties, the ship had moved closer to Waystation and the Matrian ships had slipped out of range.

"OK," Stafford said, glancing at the docking control station and seeing that Yanick had moved quickly to obey his orders, nearly sideswiping the smaller Miranda-class ship in the process, "Are we finished talking now? We've talked about the Matrians, we've talked about the M-SIDs, we've talked about my people, your people, Phulluvit's people, Baxter's issues with jealousy and fear of exclusion. Is that about it? Can I go?"  
"You're not going back to your universe until you've cleaned up your mess!" Baxter snapped.  
"Uh, yeah. That's why I want to find Phulluvit and get all of us out of your hair," Stafford said, "Or you know. If you're going to make a big issue over it I could probably just leave him here,"  
"No, you're taking him back," Beck said, "I don't want those people in any position to try sabotaging us again,"  
"How are you getting back to your home universe anyway?" Baxter asked him.  
"That's classified?" Stafford tried.  
"OK, but I mean, who has whatever it is you're using to get home?" Baxter clarified, "Can Phulluvit get back without you?"  
"No," Stafford said slowly, deciding that information wasn't exactly secret, "So you're saying I don't have to chase after him. He's going to come to me as soon as he finishes with whatever brought him here,"  
"Sure," Morales nodded.  
"And he's here for M-SID technology," Beck crossed her arms, "He couldn't get it from us, so where does he go to get it?"  
"The Matrian attack fleet," Stafford cursed, "Wanna bet he's already halfway there?"  
"Impossible," Russell said proudly, "We locked this place down like a Ferengi safe!"  
"Is that Andorian raider that docked a few hours ago still in your bay?" Stafford asked.  
Russell tapped as his console for a moment.  
"Well shit. How the hell did they manage that?"  
"I've gotta get back to my ship," Stafford told Beck, "If Phulluvit is doing something stupid like trying to sneak into a Matrian attack fleet "  
"He's going to light this powder keg," Baxter said, then looked pleased with himself. "Good metaphor, Andy," he quietly congratulated himself.  
"Morales, take him back on the Wayward," Beck ordered. Stafford started to object, but Beck cut him off, "Look, Stafford, we don't exactly have a great track record with other universes. And frankly you're a headache I don't need right now. So no, your ship is NOT coming into transporter range of my station. Morales will drop you off, you will keep your distance until Phulluvit returns, then you will get the hell out of my universe,"  
"Yes, ma'am," Stafford gulped.

"Waystation reports that Captain Stafford is en route," T'Parief said. J'Hana, Richards and the rest of the Waystation/Explorer personnel had departed, back to more important things like preparing for the impending attack. The doors hissed open and Jeffery emerged.  
"So, Ah hear the ship is ours again?" he said.  
"Most polite take-over ever," Jall nodded. He held up a padd, "I'm actually giving them a pretty good write-up on their after-action review."  
"What, are we Qu'Eh now?" Jall frowned, then tossed the padd over his shoulder. T'Parief deftly caught it, then tossed it towards the disposal.  
"No, but YOU are apparently now a Matrian warloard," T'Parief said, "Congratulations. I never would have thought it possible,"  
"Uh thanks mate. But tis not me," Jeffery settled in to the engineering station.  
"It's what the Matrians would have turned you into," Fifebee observed, "had our reality unfolded like this one,"  
"Well it didn't, and they didn't," Jeffery said sharply.  
"Hey, nobody's blaming you just because alternate-you is invading the Federation," Jall smirked, "Which, by the way REALLY stupid plan. That little fleet out there is going to get wiped out as soon as they get into range of Waystation's weapons."  
"Ah'm not that stupid!" Jeffery snapped.  
"Normally I agree," T'Parief shifted his massive weight, "But even if these ships have been upgraded, they cannot hope to defeat a well-defended, fortified outpost plus several battle-ready starships,"  
"Ye think Ah couldn't come up with something, given the time and the resources?" Jeffery crossed his arms, "Alternate-me has had whot five years? And a whole solar system of resources?"  
"The Qu'Eh in this universe were absorbed by the Matrians," Fifebee now looked thoughtful, "So you clearly developed something. Either a new technology, or a substantial amount of firepower. Or both."  
Jall suddenly looked worried.  
"Fifebee, can you boost our sensor range? Or work on something that can give us a bit more information on what they might be planning? They've got to have some kind of technological ace up their sleeve. Jeffery, if you were other-you, what would you do?"  
"Ah wouldn't be invadin' the Federation," Jeffery shrugged.  
Jall looked exasperated.  
"Ah'd Ah'd " Jeffery's eyes widened. "Uh-oh " He dashed over to the Port Auxiliary console and started hammering on the controls.  
"I am getting very strange readings from the Matrian fleet," T'Parief said suddenly.  
"I thought they were out of sensor range," Jall felt his stomach drop.  
"They were," T'Parief corrected, "But they are now coming right at us."  
"What's coming right at us?" Jall demanded, "Talk to me, people,"  
"I am picking up a huge subspace distortion," Fifebee called.  
Jeffery jumped up from the panel and leaned over the tactical railing.  
"Haven," he said.  
With flashes of pseudo-motion the Matrian fleet dropped out of warp. They immediately unleashed full weapons broadsides at the nearest Federation ships and then pulled off an in-unison turn to port that would have made Disney on Ice envious. The Explorer and the two Akira-class ships started turning to follow, which left them completely exposed when space rippled again and disgorged a massive, disc-shaped object.  
It was clearly Haven, or whatever it was the Matrians had chosen to call it in this universe. The dozens of towering buildings were dark and the lake had been drained, but the overall shape was still the same. With additions. As the city flew towards them, dome-first, the dozen warp nacelles added to the Outer Rim were clearly visible. Hatches began opening all across the hull as phaser emitters and torpedo launchers became visible. Turned as they were towards the Matrian ships, the Explorer and her escort took hard hits to their aft shields before they could make evasive maneuvers. "Beck to Stafford," the comm chirped, "I assume this is the harmless' flying city you mentioned?"  
"Yeah," Stafford sighed, "What a relief!"  
"I beg your pardon?" Morales asked next to him.  
Stafford leaned back in his chair. Finally! Finally, he knew something that most of Starfleet didn't care about but was actually really important! This was totally his time to shine!  
"Yeah," he said, tapping on the comm panel and opening a link to Silverado, "Look, Beck, I have no idea how they got it here, but my guys had months to study this place. I'm getting the information for you, but long story short, stick to the edges of the disc! Don't come at the dome head on! They've got incredibly powerful shields, but their weapons array is pretty much just defensive. And they can't maneuver worth shit,"  
"Neither can we!" Beck snapped back.  
"My tactical officer will send you schematics and a few weak-points," Stafford was sounding downright cocky now, "You might start with that big energy transfer thing on the back end unless they've tied that into whatever they're using for warp drive. But unless they've got any weird surprises up their sleeves, you've got this. So I'll just find Phulluvit and we can be on our-"  
"Would this be a weird surprise?" Morales asked, giving Stafford a not-exactly-friendly look.  
The tactical overlay on the Wayward's small screen had come to life. They could barely see the docking bay doors opening along Haven's Outer Rim, but they could see swarms of small shapes as they poured out of the bays and flew straight at them. Bigger swarms were emerging from the nearest shipyard.  
"What are they doing?" Beck demanded. She turned to the side, "What's that I'm seeing? What happened to the sensor feeds from Explorer?"  
"Stafford to Jeffery," Stafford was quiet, "Are you seeing this? Is that what I think it is?"  
"Construction bots," Jeffery said, "Or something like em. Hundreds of them. Maybe thousands."  
"Stafford," Beck's voice did not sound pleased, "Is this something new?"  
Stafford gulped.  
"Hold, please," he said. He reached over to close the channel, but Morales blocked his hand.  
"Look out!" Stafford snapped.  
Morales looked back and yanked the ship to the side just as a trio of bots crossed their path. Relieved that he wasn't under guard this time, Stafford moved over to the tactical station and started tapping away. The bots were moving quickly, streams of them moving towards each of the defending starships. The Matrians ships were coming around for another pass, but were keeping their distance from the bot swarms and strangely enough, the Federation ships.  
"Beck " he started.  
"I see it," she said, "All power to-"  
The space outside lit up as every phaser array on alter-Haven's upper surface opened up on Waystation, impacting the shields protecting the upper saucer. The barbell-shaped station rocked back, but instead of compensating with thrusters, Beck's people let the station continue to turn, rotating the weakened shields away. Heavy phaser beams spat back from the station, splashing against alter-Haven's shields.  
"Jeffery," Stafford shouted over the comm, "Get T'Parief to send those schematics! Have her target uh "  
"Antimatter Reactor 2," Jeffery replied immediately, "It was under one of the water processing plants, but with the bollocks!"  
The channel cut out. Stafford turned the sensors to Silverado, only to see that the ship was engulfed in attacking bots. The swarmed and skittered across the shields, sparks flying as their robotic limbs struck the energy field, splashes of brilliant light surging as they directed their cutting beams at the ship's hull.  
Waystation fired back again, but alter-Haven seemed to shrug off the hit.  
"Well," Jeffery said, looking at the main viewscreen, "At least we don't have to worry about being shot at by the city,"  
The screen looked like some kind of metallic insect orgy. The bots were moving around so quickly it was impossible to focus on any single one, but it was still clear what they were doing.  
"Shields are being drained," T'Parief reported, "We have six minutes until the bots are able to attack the hull directly,"  
"Fifebee, I'm pretty sure this sort of thing has happened before," Jall said, "Start looking stuff up,"  
"There was that one incident at Starbase Yorktown in the 23rd-Century," Fifebee started, but Jall cut her off.  
"Fifebee, you're in the Fiction' section again! Try again under Non-Fiction'!"  
"Ooops," Fifebee paused for a moment, "There are six thousand twenty-four incidents regarding attacks by large groups of robotic entities on file. None of them are recorded as having been solved with rock music,"  
"What works?" Jeffery asked.  
"Electromagnetic pulse," Fifebee started listing off possibilities, though they were largely vetoed immediately.  
"Nay," Jeffery said, "Matrian bots are shielded,"  
"Deflector resonance pulse,"  
"No," Sylvia shimmered into view, "That only worked because those sythentics had antimatter micro-reactors,"  
"Yes, I see." Fifebee paused, "Reversing shield polarity?"  
"Just tried it," Jeffery said, "Nope,"  
"There's something very strange about some of the signals I'm picking up," Sylvia frowned, "Hold on. I need to look into this," she vanished.  
"Five minutes," T'Parief intoned.  
"Why aren't they getting in closer?" Stafford asked. Each of the Federation ships had been swarmed with bots. The smaller Akira-class ships had taken to firing on each-other with low power phaser blasts. Each shot took out a dozen bots, but also weakened their shields. Explorer was firing randomly in all directions as the bots tried to dig into her shields, one blast narrowly missing the Wayward and electing a curse from Morales. Waystation and Haven continued to slug it out, though neither was making much progress. Haven was bigger and had three antimatter reactors to Waystation's two, but Waystation had a much smaller area to shield. Haven's need to face the station dome-on to direct full weapons at the smaller station made for an awfully large target.  
"I'd say they're in close enough," Morales said as he spun the small ship around. So far they were the only Starfleet vessel able to evade the bots.  
"No, I mean the Matrian ships," Stafford said, "Why aren't they closing in? Hell, they should be ready to beam in boarding parties as soon as Haven gets Waystation's shields down!"  
"They have to beam an M-SID in first," Morales said, "And Waystation has anti-M-SID countermeasures. The whole lower saucer had to be powered down to extend the field out to our ships,"  
"That's why your ships never moved far from Waystation!" Stafford realized, "Why not put countermeasures on the ships themselves?"  
"Too much power drain,"  
"Ahh," Stafford looked back at the tactical console and brought up the anti-M-SID overlay. Silverado was just inside the field.  
"Jall," he called over the comm, "Don't get any further from Waystation! There's a-"  
"M-SID countermeasure field, we know, they told us," Jall cut him off. In the background, Stafford could hear Jeffery and Fifebee.  
"Super high-voltage discharge along the hull?" Jeffery suggested.  
"Perhaps after the shields fail," Fifebee replied, "Though our death is more probable,"  
"Oh, we could fly into the sun!" Yanick suggested, "Burn the critters off!"  
"Yeah, and if the Matrians catch us in an M-SID field for more than a few minutes, we turn into them," Jall snapped.  
"Oh,"  
Stafford blinked.  
"Jall, I have an idea. Keep my ship in one piece! Stafford out!"  
"No promises," Jall muttered as the channel closed.  
"Two minutes," T'Parief said.  
"Transporter dispersion no, not with the shields up," Jeffery was still going on.  
"I am attempting to harden our shields by specifically adjusting to the frequencies of the cutting beams used by our Matrian counterparts," Sylvia broke in, "This should buy us an additional five minutes,"  
"And it's AI for the win!" Jall exclaimed, "Or a pause anyway."  
"Your lives aren't the only ones on the line here, San!" Sylvia said peevishly, "OK, Simon, can you please make the following adjustments?"  
"On it," Jeffery tapped away for a few seconds, "Done,"  
Outside, the swarming bots seemed to pause for a moment. Suddenly, every cutting beam switched off. In unison, the bots tore open access panels, adjusted internal controls, closed the panels and resumed attacking Silverado's shields.  
"They have changed frequencies," T'Parief stated.  
"No kidding," Jall grumbled, "Sylvia, I take back that win,"  
"They shouldn't be able to do that," Jeffery said, "How did they adjust so quickly? How could they?"  
"Fifebee? Sylvia? What do you guys hello?" Jall was looking at Fifebee, who had frozen solid. Suddenly she leapt into motion again.  
"All ships, all ships, this is USS Silverado, close all data-communications channels and isolate sensor and communication systems from your central computers!"  
"Wha-" Jall about to belay that when Sylvia stopped him cold.  
"The Matrians are using an AI to control the bots," Sylvia said, "I KNEW there was something familiar about those data patterns!"  
"One minute," T'Parief said.  
"Sylvia and I have a plan," Fifebee said.  
"Already?"  
"We reverted to direct communication. It was far faster. And we did not have to pause to explain every time you did not understand. Like now."  
"Is this going to save us, Sylvia?" Jall demanded, turning away from Fifebee, "Or are you going to eat up the time I could be enjoying my final martini with techno-babble."  
"We know the Matrians capture the Simon from this universe," Sylvia spoke, but as she did the Port Auxiliary console took on a life of its own, the displays jumping as Sylvia manipulated systems, "We assume they captured Noel, Chris all of you. Look at the nacelles attached to Haven!"  
"Uh, sure. Cuz we have such a great view," Jall gestured at the screen, which showed nothing but bots. It flickered as Sylvia brought up the image of Haven dropping out of warp, the froze it. "Those are Federation technology," Valtaic noticed immediately.  
"Aye," Jeffery swallowed, "And Ambassador-class, too. All twelve of them. And see there in the center?"  
The image jumped as Sylvia fired up the magnification. In the center of the dome, where the pod housing the Haven Command Center used to be was a perfectly circular saucer, far bigger than the old pod. It covered nearly the inner third of the dome, in fact.  
"Oh shit," Jall groaned.  
"Thirty seconds," T'Parief said.  
"That's an Ambassador-class saucer," Jeffery exclaimed.  
"That's OUR saucer," Sylvia said, "Now we know what happened to the us of this universe. Including me,"  
"Ten seconds!"  
"You?" Jall demanded.  
"Ah-hah!" Sylvia exclaimed triumphantly, "Got them!" The bots swarming on the screen abruptly stopped.  
"Sylvia?" Jall repeated, "You?"  
"Exactly!" Sylvia said, "Me!"  
"Do you know any other AI's that could control swarms of cute little bots so effectively?"

"This is insane!" Morales said, "you know that, right?"  
"Right," Stafford said, tapping in the commands to isolate the sensors from the central computer and shut down non-essential communications, "Got a better idea?"  
"No. But we'll only have a couple of minutes to do this,"  
"Yeah. Is Waystation ready?"  
"Standing by," Russell's voice came back, "But this better work! That's one phaser array that could be well doing almost nothing against Haven's shields right now!"  
"Shields at 75%," someone on Waystation said the background.  
"Stop whining, you're fine," Stafford said, "Let's go!"  
Morales tapped at the controls, pulling the small ship away from Waystation and towards one of the Matrian ships.  
"Standby Waystation " Stafford said.  
"Wait until they turn " Morales said, eyes on the screen, " now!  
"Fire!" Stafford snapped.  
Waystation fired, the thick phaser blast catching the Matrian ship off-guard. Their engines flickered, and the ship started to drift right towards the station.  
"Engaging tractor beam," Stafford said.  
"Full impulse," Morales tapped the controls.  
They pulled the ship, accelerating its momentum towards Waystation right into the anti-M-SID countermeasure field.  
"Give it a minute or two," Stafford said, "And you'll have a ship full of very confused Matrian males. Or kidnapped aliens. Or something. But they probably won't be hostile."  
"That's great," Beck said over the comm, "but our ships are about to lose shields! We don't have time to pull this stunt on every attacking ship, and Haven is one tough nut to crack!"  
As if on cue, Baxter broke into the channel.  
"This is Explorer! Our shields are down! The bots are coming right at the hull! They're killing us! Oh, they're killing us, and it's all your fault! They're they're wait. No, I was wrong. They all just stopped. And they're leaving?"  
"Sylvia to Stafford," the comm chirped. "I have established control over the invading robot swarms. Would you like me to send them home with a firm talking-to?"  
"Nooo, I have a better idea," Stafford said, "But first beam me off this thing!"  
"Hey," Morales looked offended.  
"Sorry," Stafford said, "But between those high-speed maneuvers and all these windows, I'm feeling enough motion-sickness to redecorate your carpets with my guts,"  
"Dropping shields for transport," Morales replied.

"We don't exactly have a lot of time," Sylvia was saying as Stafford strode onto the bridge, "Alternate-me is trying to regain control. Lucky for me, she's more than a bit out of date on current Federation cyber-warfare. She also never had to deal with hundreds of Matrian bots going through the equivalent of teenage rebellion or an Old Matrian computer virus! I did some brushing up after that, believe you me!"  
"Status?" Stafford demanded.  
"Sylvia has the bots swarming Haven's shields and interfering with their targeting systems," Jall replied, "Explorer, Waystation and the other ships have managed to get partial shields back up and are mopping up the Matrian fleet. Three of their ships already surrendered after they drifted into the anti-M-SID field."  
"And by drifted', he means having their engines disabled and being tossed in that general direction," Yanick corrected.  
"What about Haven?" Stafford asked. Jall quickly filled him in on their discoveries: the Ambassador-class nacelles, and Silverado's saucer now being part of the station's design.  
"What do ye want to bet our engineering hull is somewhere in the back?" Jeffery asked, "Probably where the energy transceiver used to be serving as a distribution system to the nacelle array,"  
"Why do you say that?" Stafford asked.  
"That's how Ah'd do it," Jeffery shrugged.  
"Sounds like a weak point," T'Parief said, tapping at his console.  
"Aye, but we'll never get through their shields with just a few ships," Jeffery said, "We'd need them to turn around so Waystation can lay in on em. And even then well, Antimatter Reactor 2 is still a better target."  
"Once the Matrian ships have been dealt with, our ships can start helping Waystation break down their shields," Stafford said, "In fact, let's do that now. Yanick, bring us closer to Waystation. T'Parief, fire at will. And has ANYBODY seen Phulluvit and his idiots?"  
"We've been a wee bit busy," Jeffery said.  
"Maybe we should just try hailing them," Yanick suggested, one finger twirling her blond hair while the other raced over her panel.  
Jall and Stafford exchanged a glance.  
"Yeah, we could do that," Stafford grimaced, "T'Parief no, you're busy. Fifebee, try to raise Phulluvit. Tell him the taxi's leaving shortly."  
On the screen, Silverado's phaser beams and the occasional torpedo joined the barrages Waystation was launching at Haven. Dozens of bots were vapourized, but the remainder kept digging at the city shields right up until they abruptly stopped.  
"Damn!" Sylvia exclaimed, "She's given up on regaining control now she's just jamming me!"  
"Can we boost the power or something?" Stafford asked.  
"Jamming doesn't work that way," Sylvia replied peevishly, "Chris, you know better. We can't overpower their transmitters from out here, unless she sends the bots back out to attack us. And I'm very sure we don't want to get close in to the city. Frankly, as long as the bots are out of the picture entirely "  
"Right," "I am receiving a message from Commander Phulluvit," Fifebee reported, "He thanks us for our timely distraction and states he will be returning immediately," she paused, "The signal is coming from one of the Matrian ships that has surrendered."  
"I guess Phulluvit found his M-SID," Jall said.  
"He's not going to keep it," Stafford said, "Fifebee, you tell him there is NO WAY he's bringing a live M-SID onto my ship!"  
There was a pause.  
"He assures us it has been deactivated," Fifebee said. Stafford's look was more than slightly skeptical, "He has sent tricorder data to corroborate,"  
"Setup a containment area in Shuttlebay 2," Stafford ordered, "Have a security team and an engineering detail waiting. We'll deal with him later!"  
"Beck to Silverado and Explorer," the comm chirped, "Their shields are weakening. I want a concentrated strike at the following coordinates. If we time it right, we should be able to punch through to that reactor!"  
"Beck," Stafford called back, "I think you've got things under control here. As soon as that reactor's out, we're leaving,"  
Beck was silent for a moment.  
"Do you have Phulluvit?" she asked.  
Stafford looked over the Fifebee, who nodded.  
"Yeah. We have him,"  
"OK," Beck said, "Send us whatever jamming signal you're using to keep the bots at bay."  
"Right." Stafford turned to Fifebee, "Call Cadela and get the Blinker online. Sylvia, get the programming to get us out of here decrypted and running!"  
"Yes, Chris,"  
"Acknowledged,"  
"All ships, prepare to fire," Beck ordered.

Whoever was running alter-Haven must have known they were in trouble even before the final attack. The city abruptly stopped its attacks on Waystation and started to pivot, trying to turn the dome away from the station. But as Stafford said, it had the manoeuvrability of a brick. Simultaneous phaser blasts from Waystation, Silverado, Explorer and the other Starfleet ships that were still operational pieced the city shields, blasted the dome and struck hard at the building over the antimatter reactor. Normally, the huge tanks in the water processing center would have diffused any weapons blasts, but with the lake drained and the city converted to battle-station, the effect was ironically reversed. The empty tanks offered little resistance, and the reactor took heavy damage.

"Reading a power build-up!" Fifebee snapped.  
"They're tryin' to jettison the reactor," Jeffery added, "This is gonna be nasty!"  
"Bring-" Stafford was cut off as the screen flashed to white. The ship bucked hard as the energy wave from the destroyed reactor struck.  
"Shields are down," T'Parief reported, "However they blocked the bulk of the blast. Minimal damage,"  
"Yanick, 88% impulse, directly away from Waystation," Stafford ordered, "Jeffery, divert power to the deflector. Umm .what am I forgetting? We've only used this thing once,"  
"I am standing by to press the on' button to activate the Blinker," Valtaic said.  
"Right, that,"  
"In a hurry to leave?" Jall asked, "No time for a nice drink with the Beck of this universe? The one you haven't completely blown it with yet?"  
"Jall, tell me a single time an encounter with another universe ended well?" Stafford said.  
"Stern enjoyed his visit with his other self," Jall shrugged, "Maybe it's my turn,"  
"None of us want to hear about that again," Yanick said, "And in this universe, alternate-you is probably a Matrian breeding slave or something."  
Jall thought for a moment. "Point taken. Let's get out of here."  
"Eighty percent impulse," Yanick said, "Eighty-two,"  
"You might be interested to know," T'Parief said, "There is a powerful warp wake at alternate Haven's last position. It is likely they survived the explosion from the jettisoned reactor by jumping to warp,"  
"Not our problem," Stafford said, "Yanick? Let's GO already!"  
"Eighty-eight percent impulse!" Yanick reported.  
The same flashing light and deep, tearing sound they experienced on the first trip repeated itself, along with the deafening crash. Outside on the main viewscreen everything looked exactly the same.  
"Are we back?" Jall asked.  
"Incoming hail from Waystation," T'Parief reported, "They congratulate us on surviving Cadela's hare-brained scheme and again offer thanks that it was us involved instead of them,"  
"I'd say we're back," Stafford said, "But not finished. T'Parief, with me. We need to have a little chat with Commander Phulluvit. And relieve him of a certain dangerous artifact."

The doors to the shuttlebay hissed open and Stafford stepped out to find his security team and Phulluvit's squad face-to-face, phasers drawn. Jeffery's engineers had retreated to the shuttlebay entrance, but one of Phulluvir's goons was pointing a weapon in their direction.  
"Lt Sage," Stafford said to the lead engineer, "What the hell?"  
"The M-SID is deactivated," Sage reported, "But as soon as Stern and his team went to take it, Phulluvit's guys pulled weapons!"  
"Phulluvit!" Stafford shouted, "What do you think you're doing? Stand down!"  
"I don't think so," Phulluvit said "You've obviously figured out our mission. You know we're not going to turn over this device,"  
"Do you know how much trouble the Matrians went through to make sure this technology was destroyed?" Stafford shouted, seeing red, "Do you understand just how badly they screwed up their civilization?! And here you go and risk MY SHIP and MY CREW to steal one?"  
"We were just supposed to get the schematics," Phulluvit said, "There's no way we could have known that universe was in the middle of a Matrian war,"  
"Wasn't there? That universe clearly was picked for a reason! Was Cadela in on this, or just a dupe,"  
Phulluvit ignored him.  
"Bridge to Shuttlebay Two captain, we've got a ship approaching! Sovereign-class! IFF identifies her as the USS Medusa,"  
"And that would be our ride," Phulluvit said smugly.  
"Shields up," Stafford snapped, "Phulluvit, you're not going anywhere with that device!"  
"Oh, I think I am," Phulluvit sneered, "Phulluvit to Medusa. Beam us out,"  
"Our shields-"  
There was a shimmer of transporter sparks and there was a look of surprise on Phulluvit's face when he realized he wasn't beaming out. None of his people were. Someone was beaming aboard Silverado and as the sparks faded, Stafford recognized the man immediately: Commander Matt Noonan. His former first officer. "Noonan?" Stafford's head jerked back in surprise, "What the hell how did you beam in? What are you doing here? Why-"  
"Captain," Noonan's unnaturally smooth voice broke through the torrent, "I think you know perfectly well I'm not going to answer any of those questions,"  
Stafford grimaced.  
"I guess not," he grunted, "I don't suppose you're here to rescues us, like on Matria Prime?"  
"No," Noonan inclined his head towards Phulluvit, "I am here to rescue' them. They were on a mission for well, I'm not at liberty to say. But I was in an advisory position,"  
Stafford crossed his arms.  
"You advised Starfleet Intelligence or whoever it is you work for to use us like this?"  
"Actually, that was my idea," Phulluvit chimed in.  
"Shut up," Noonan and Stafford both said.  
"An understanding of these devices is key to ensuring proper countermeasures are available if needed," Noonan said.  
"Uh-huh," Stafford grunted, "You know what the universe we were just in had? Countermeasure devices. And maybe if we'd just asked for those instead of trying to steal stuff, we would have had a much easier time of it!"  
Noonan gave Phulluvit a dark look.  
"I see," he pulled out a small device and tapped a few buttons. Phulluvit, his team and the M-SID all disappeared in transporter beams.  
"What are you-" Stafford bared.  
"Be silent and listen," Noonan said quickly, "Phulluvit now assumes that I am wiping your memory before I beam back to the ship. Trust me that it was imperative that you NOT interfere with our retrieval of the device,"  
"You are going to destroy it yourself and hope to spare us from repercussions," T'Parief grumbled.  
Noonan shook his head, a hint of a smile on his face.  
"I would never interfere in the plans of my superiors. But the ship transporting us does have a certain reputation," he said, "And nobody would be surprised if they accidentally' dropped the M-SID into a star or something,"  
"Sounds like you're working with us again," Stafford smirked.  
"The experience has, in fact, served me well," Noonan grinned, carefully keeping his lips over his teeth. "I know what I'm doing. Cheers," With another tilt of his head, he disappeared.  
Stafford stood there for a moment.  
"T'Parief?"  
"Yes."  
"I want the security footage of that last exchange erased. And you and I will never, ever mention this again, to anyone. Whoever Matt is dealing with I don't want to leave them any ammunition lying around."  
"Understood."  
Jall rummaged around the bar in Unbalanced Equations, trying to find a shot glass. The lights were dim and Steven and his staff were nowhere to be seen. The ship was docked at Waystation for minor repairs from their trans-universal trip, and Steven and his staff had taken the opportunity to close down and take a break.  
"San, just use the replicator," Yanick called from the seats near the windows.  
"Trish, I didn't go digging through all of Steven's cabinets for the one bottle of real vodka that isn't locked in his secure locker just to use the replicator because I can't find a one-ounce shot glass! Or one of those measuring auto-pour things,"  
"Ah'm surprised yer measurin' at all," Jeffery said as he rummaged around for a bottle of scotch. Finding one, he poured a couple of fingers worth into a glass.  
"I'm mixing a cosmo!" Jall said, "If I don't get the recipe right, it doesn't taste right!"  
The doors opened and Wowryk, Fifebee and Stafford stepped in.  
"I figured that piece about you being the only one on the ship to do anything of any importance was a big load," Stafford was saying, "But it was nice to actually hear that Phulluvit and his people had tampered with Cadela's equipment. Man, was she ever embarrassed!"  
"Actually," Fifebee said, "From the adjustments they made to her scanning device, they still needed to identify a universe where the differences in the universes were strongly connected to the Matrians. Dr. Wowryk is really the only person within the Federation who-"  
"Fifebee? Let me have this."  
"Yes, sir," Fifebee nodded and moved to take her seat.  
"Drink, Doctor?" Stafford asked.  
"Wine, please. Red. Something from Australia. Or California. Maybe Chile," Wowryk replied.  
"And here I thought you'd be the low-maintenance one," Stafford cracked. He found a bottle of wine and poured her a glass, then grabbed a beer for himself, "What are you hunting around for, Jall?"  
"Measuring shot glass,"  
"Why don't you just-"  
"It won't taste right!"  
"Oookay," Stafford went and took his seat. T'Parief was already sipping on something that smelled like fermented death. Yanick, Wowryk, Fifebee and Jeffery were all settled into their seats. Valtaic wasn't drinking anything, but he was sitting in the chair closest to a power outlet and had connected some sort of Lithinarian device that was apparently supposed to help him relax. (It also caused his thick, bristle-brush hair to throw off sparks.) Sylvia was standing next to the windows, looking out into space.  
"Hurry up, Jall!" Trish called.  
"Found one!" Jall exclaimed triumphantly, "Wait where did I put the lime juice?"  
"JAAAL!"  
"OK, OK," there was a flurry of klings, klangs and splashes as Jall finished his drink than rushed over to the seats. Once he was sure all his senior staff was there, Stafford cleared his throat and raised his glass.  
"To our other selves," he said grimly, "Captured. Converted. Maybe killed. Enslaved to an enemy that, to us, became a valued ally," he grimaced, the cleared his throat, "There but for the grace of God go we,"  
He lifted his glass and drank.  
"Amen," Wowryk said, taking a sip of her wine. Everyone else drank in silence.  
"What did Admiral Tunney have to say about this whole thing?" Jeffery asked.  
"You mean after I spent five minutes pointing out how Phulluvit and his bosses played him as much as he thought he was playing us?" Stafford took another sip of his beer, "He was angry. Furious, even. And he said that under no circumstances were we to attempt to go back to rescue our selves. Then he ordered all of Cadela's equipment destroyed."  
"A wise move," Fifebee sighed, "Sadly, the scientific benefit is not worth the risk of that device. The Mirror Universe transport devices have proven that,"  
"You weren't seriously thinking about going back, were you?" Wowryk asked.  
"Risking our lives to try to save alternate versions of ourselves?" Stafford sighed, "No. I just no."  
"With an infinite number of universes," Valtaic mused, "What would be the point? We would simply create a universe where they were saved, while the current universe continued to exist. In fact, though we have not chosen to attempt a rescue, there is a universe in which we did and were killed for our efforts."  
"Thanks for that," Jall said, taking a deep sip of his drink.  
They were silence again for a few moments.  
"I don't suppose I have to remind any of you," Sylvia spoke up, "That somewhere out there, in OUR universe, is a swarm of rogue Matrian construction bots."  
"And we now know just how dangerous those bots can be," T'Parief looked almost wistful, "If we had known this during the battle against the Qu'Eh "  
"Do you think the bots here could be that dangerous?" Stafford asked, "I mean, they don't have a brainwashed version of you controlling them right? I know you sort of felt like they were your children, but they're just Matrian bots with very limited capabilities."  
Sylvia and Fifebee exchanged a look.  
"No, you're right Chris," Sylvia said, "Still. They have already shown great potential for adaptation. And some sort of AI-like development,"  
"Bridge to Stafford," the comm chirped, "We just received new orders from Starbase 45,"  
"Thanks," Stafford out.  
He pulled out a padd and tapped away "Huh. Looks like there was a sighting of an unidentified craft on the other side of Multek space," Stafford said, "We're supposed to check it out. And since we're going that way anyway, we get to play delivery boy and drop off supplies at some of the new colony worlds out that way,"  
"I think I've actually missed getting routine orders that don't seem likely to lead to our imminent deaths," Jall said cheerfully, sipping his drink.  
"Me too," Stafford put the padd away and took another sip of beer, "We'll set course as soon as repairs are done. For now, we get to take a bit of a break,"  
"Cheers to that," Jeffery said.  
They drank.

End.

That concludes Silverado Season 6! Sorry about the big wait for the finale real life certainly got in the way. And yes, I know. I left the whole thread about the Matrian bots hanging. Hopefully sometime in the future there will be a brief, one-shot special to wrap that one up. Until then, thanks for reading!


End file.
